


Second Fiddle

by sgamadison



Series: The Second Series [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-24
Updated: 2010-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No wonder Sheppard missed McKay.  He was an impossible act to follow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Fiddle

**Author's Note:**

> Story Notes:  
>  This is the reverse treatment of my story Second Best. It is not necessary to read SB first, although you might enjoy the parallels and differences between the two stories. I was in a whimsical mood when I wrote this story, so if you notice similarities to other stories I've written (namely Alternative Medicine), it was deliberate. :-) Much thanks to the_cephalopod for a speedy, practical and excellent beta job!

Could this day get any worse? Rodney McKay, astrophysicist and assistant professor at MIT, didn't think so. He stomped down the cold, dark street, tucking the hood of his bright orange parka closer in around his face, trying to shield himself from the bitter wind. Everything in his life felt pinched and cold and this had to be the worst holiday season in memory. He might as well be living in Siberia for all the warmth in his life right now. He swore if one more person wished him a Merry Christmas or shook a silver bell in his face, he would be up for charges of murder. At least the semester was over and he didn't have to deal with the hordes of pathetic, moronic students for another few weeks.

It didn't help that for the first time in nearly 20 years there would be no one to greet him at his apartment when he arrived home. He pushed aside that thought with a pang and allowed instead the anger of the earlier conversation he'd had with the department head to fuel his thoughts, giving him the semblance of warmth as he recalled the brutal lecture he'd received.

"I don't care how brilliant you think you are, Dr. McKay," Dr. Webster had said, tamping down his smelly pipe carefully and casually wrecking the remains of Rodney's life, "you don't know how to play the game. Getting tenure isn't just about publishing; there is such a thing as getting along with your colleagues you know."

Rodney had opened his mouth to protest but had been forestalled. "It's not that we don't appreciate the caliber of your work, we do. It's just that without seeing some major attitude changes on your part, I honestly do not think your tenure will be approved. Dr. Kavanaugh's work is every bit as..."

"Okay, you know Kavanaugh is an idiot, right?" Rodney had managed to get in at that time. "The man's thinking is so rigid, he's incapable of seeing the big scheme of things..."

"This is exactly what I mean," Webster had sighed. "You can't go around maligning your colleagues...at least, not until you get tenure. As for seeing the big scheme of things, while your work in wormhole theoretics is excellent, there is the practical application of science that needs to be considered as well, as this is what drives the funding process for major universities. And frankly, Dr. Kavanaugh has a better chance of succeeding on these collective fronts than you do. Not to mention, he gets better student evaluations."

"So do you want someone who actually knows what they are doing or has perfected their suck-up skills?" Rodney's angry retort had been met with a pained silence.

He shoved his gloved fists deeper into his pockets, scuffing his boots along the sidewalk as he walked home. Maybe it was time to leave academia anyway. Lord knows he could use a better paycheck and he was tired of scrambling for grant money to fund his projects and lab work. The problem was he hated the 'practical applications' of his work that a government or private company would employ, and he really liked teaching—sometimes. Okay, he didn't like spoon-feeding information to spoiled brats whose most serious thought was whether they had purchased enough beer for the upcoming party, but he did really get a kick out of seeing a face light up when some young student got it, really understood the concept he was explaining. Better yet when that person could take the information and run with it on their own.

Still, any organization that would choose Kavanaugh over himself...

A light snow began to fall; fat fluffy snowflakes spinning down in a chaotic tumble, playing really, not serious about driving down and sticking to the ground. Rodney paused on the sidewalk and sighed, looking up at the thick and silent sky. He had almost nothing to eat at home; the smart thing to do would be to stop by the little market near his apartment and grab some things just in case the weather got down to business. In a way, he wished it would snow, heavy and hard, shutting down the world and giving him an excuse to lie in bed all day with the covers pulled over his head. With another sigh, he changed direction and headed down the block towards the market.

Later he would blame the heaviness of his thoughts for his lack of awareness for his personal safety. The group of young men spilled out of the alcoved doorway as he passed it like wasps from a hive, and before he knew what had happened, he had been spun around and forcibly shoved up against a wall so hard it made him see stars. Protesting feebly, he felt himself being propelled further into an alley and this made warning bells go off sharply in his head. Getting attacked after dark on a cold city street—this was bad. Being dragged into an alley by said attackers: very bad.

With a shove so hard he went down on his knees, the rough asphalt of the alley biting his skin through his pants, he threw up his hands defensively. "Wait, wait!" He pulled off his gloves and showed his empty hands again. "I'll give you whatever you want. Just take the money and leave me alone, okay?"

There was the sound of not-pleasant laughter all around him. He avoided looking up, not wanting to provoke his attackers, not wanting to be able to identify them if asked. Booted feet flanked him on either side, blocking his escape from the alley; a third set stood in front of him. This was bad; he felt like the errant wildebeest that had separated from the herd and got cut off by a pack of jackals. This didn't feel like a simple mugging to him. The malicious humor that radiated off his attackers truly frightened him.

"See?" Rodney unzipped his parka with shaking hands. "No tricks here. I'm just getting my wallet..."

The leader of the group stepped forward, fisting Rodney's hair and pulling his head back as he placed a blade against his cheek. "Better hope you got plenty of money in there." The thug's comment was met with snickers from his cohorts. Rodney raised his eyes then, unconsciously taking in the pockmarked face of the young man holding the knife to his cheek, the cold blade feeling like a burning ember against his skin.

It was because he was looking up that he saw the shadow detach itself from the wall. Silently it rushed the man with the knife, moving like a terrible cyclone into his presence. The would-be mugger yelped in surprise and then was jerked backwards into the darkness of the alley, the sound of fists hitting flesh thudded dully before the two men beside Rodney recovered from their shock and leapt forward with a cry. Rodney kicked out as the man on the right went past him; causing the guy to stumble and fall to his hands and knees. Rodney threw himself on the fallen man, flattening him to the ground and scrabbling around in the cluttered alleyway for something to use as a weapon, he came upon a piece of packing crate with his hands. The youth beneath him threw him off with a yell and Rodney swung madly in his direction with his stave of wood. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he placed his back to the wall as the melee continued around him, heart thudding in his chest, no longer able to discern who was what or where. He had the overall impression of a leopard turned loose among the jackals and he didn't know if this was a good or bad thing for him personally. Probably wisest if he just crept away while the tough guys battled it out.

Just like that, the jackals had had enough, scattering with curses and staggering footsteps out of the alley. Rodney was left with the shadow and the sound of harsh breathing. The form straightened carefully from where he had been bent over, hands on knees and Rodney heard the man ask with a slight drawl, "You okay?"

"Yes, yes I think so. Thanks to you." Rodney still did not know if he should be edging out the alley as well, but somehow he thought he should stay.

His presumed rescuer stepped forward into the hazy pinkish light cast from the street lamp beyond. He was dressed all in black, some sort of body protector-vest over a t-shirt and vaguely military-style pants and boots, clothing completely inappropriate for the weather, rakish hair sticking up in all directions. He had a hand clasped below his ribs and as Rodney watched, he lifted his hand away to inspect his side, the ruby wetness of blood showing on his palm. The light snow continued to fall with the serenity of a Hallmark card.

"Oh crap, you're injured." Rodney pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the man, who was swaying slightly. "Ohmygod, you're soaking wet!" Rodney's hands collided with the clammy wet clothing and he was staggered to find that his rescuer was drenched and starting to shiver. The man in black tipped sideways and leaned heavily on Rodney's shoulder.

"So Rodney," the man drawled, some private amusement shimmering in his tone. "Who'd you piss off this time?"

***

The entire trip back to his apartment was surreal. Light snow dusted the other man's wet hair; his body was like an icicle pressed up against Rodney's side. There was an Abbot and Costello moment when the other man remembered something he'd left in the alley, something important that he was insistent on retrieving and then there was Rodney's urgent need to get them both out of there before the street punks returned with reinforcements.

"We need that pack, McKay." The other man's voice was commanding, despite the fact that it was shaking with cold, so Rodney left him propped against the wall as he limped into the dark alley and rooted around until he found a black backpack lying against one grimy wall. Hoisting it over his shoulder with a grunt, he'd collected the other guy, browbeat him into wearing the parka and dragged him back to the apartment. The fact that this guy somehow knew him (knew him, not just his name) was creeping him out, but he couldn't think about that just yet. First things first; get inside, get warm and dry, call 9-1-1.

Inside the apartment, Rodney let the pack fall to the floor at the doorway and guided the other man past the bicycle crowding the narrow entranceway and over to his couch, pushing journals and textbooks off onto the floor as he made room for the injured man.

"Wet things off," Rodney demanded. He settled the other man on the couch, pulling off the parka and tugging at the Velcro attachments on the vest.

The other man slapped his hand away. "I can handle it, McKay. It's not as bad as it looks. I'm just c-cold." He bent down cautiously to untie his boots, sliding them off carefully and peeling off socks as well, dropping them with a wet 'splat' to the floor. He wriggled his toes and then rubbed his feet together, wincing. His skin looked unnaturally pale underneath its normal tan, almost bluish in color.

"Why are you dressed that way? You realize only a lunatic would be outside in this weather soaking wet, right? What were you doing in that alley? And just how is it that you know my name?" The questions exploded from Rodney with the rapid delivery of automatic weapons fire, but the man seemed impervious to the assault.

"It's a long story." The man stood up, grimaced as he began undoing the tabs on the vest and then suddenly seemed to give up, letting his hands drop to his sides with a sigh. Rodney was startled to realize that this guy was about his own age; he'd thought him younger at first. Now, in the light of the apartment, he looked really tired and somehow vulnerable. Not a superhero after all, Rodney thought, feeling the smile quirk at his lips before he frowned again.

"Come on," Rodney tugged at his arm with a much-put-upon sigh. "The shower's in through here. You might as well get those wet things off and warm up while I find you some clothes and then we'll get you down to the hospital."

The man had been moving with Rodney until the word 'hospital' and then he put on the brakes suddenly. "No hospital, no police. Rodney, please, not 'til I've had a chance to explain everything."

Rodney took in the serious expression in the hazel eyes, the day old stubble and the lines of exhaustion in the other man's face. The man had called him 'Rodney' in a way that made him feel as though he somehow owed the guy something—at least the chance to explain. He rolled his eyes and began propelling the guy towards the bathroom again. "This had better be good," he huffed.

"Trust me." There was both humor and tension in his voice; somehow the words had a multitude of meanings and Rodney felt like there was some great cosmic joke here that he was not a part of, but when he glanced sharply at the other man, he only saw a bland, smooth mask in place.

Rodney took him through the bedroom and left him leaning on his hands on the bathroom sink while he disappeared back into his room and returned with a set of boxers and some sweats. "What about your injury?" Rodney flicked his fingers towards the gaping cloth of the man's wet shirt and the darker stain around it.

"It's not too bad. Just a slice. The vest caught the worst of it. First aid kit's in the pack—can you bring it?" He was shrugging gingerly out of the vest as he spoke.

The bathroom door was shut and there was the sound of running water when Rodney returned. Shivering, he dropped the pack on the bed and pulled out dry clothes for himself: a dark blue turtleneck and a pair of jeans. His khakis, he noted, were a total loss; both knees ripped and torn. He inspected his scraped knees, huffed a little due to currently being deprived of access to his own first aid kit in the bathroom and then, with resignation, dressed quickly. He hurried back into the kitchen, blowing on his hands, cranking up the thermostat as he went and plugging in the coffee maker. A cursory glance into his cupboards confirmed that he had been right; there was next to nothing in the house to eat aside from cat food. He could order pizza...he thought briefly about the amount of money currently in his wallet and gave a mental shiver at the likely outcome of his mugging if his captors had realized that he didn't even have the cash to buy a large pizza on him.

He continued to open cabinets at random. The guy in the shower probably needed to eat something hot and filling as soon as possible. He'd have made macaroni and cheese only he was out of milk. And cheese. He wondered if he was going to get to call the other guy something other than 'the guy' any time soon and frowned again at the seeming familiarity this guy had with him. Spaghetti was out—no sauce. Maybe he should just phone in some takeout after all, unless he wanted to slap some cat food on a saltine cracker and call it pate. Oh. Right. No saltines. He noted the fine tremor in his hand when he reached for the handle on another cabinet and realized with a sigh that all the excitement had used up his available blood sugar and if he did not eat something soon, he was going to crash.

Spooning the last of the peanut butter out of the jar, he walked around the kitchen with the spoon stuck in his mouth as he contemplated his other food options. And what was up with him anyway, letting a perfect stranger call all the shots like that? Knowing he'd just have to wait until the guy decided to talk to get the answers he wanted, he tossed the spoon in the sink with a clatter and set about pulling out a sauce pan, placing it on the stove. He opened a can of beef stew and dumped it in the pot. It seemed pretty meager to feed two men. After a moment's hesitation, he added a can of mixed vegetables and then for good measure cut up the last carrot in the fridge and tossed that in as well. As the soup began to heat slowly, he rooted around the cabinets once more and came up with a can of potatoes. Okay, so it wasn't something that guy on the cooking channel would throw together, but it would be hot and nourishing once it simmered for a while. He turned the oven on low and slathered a couple of slices of Italian bread with butter, wishing he had some garlic as he placed it inside the oven to brown. The first cup of coffee was ready by this time and he gratefully collected a mug, cradling it in his hands and sipping it carefully as he meandered back towards his bedroom.

He no longer heard the shower. He waited in the hall, listening for the sounds of the other man, not wanting to think about how casually good-looking the other guy was, even though he was injured, cold, wet and tired—which was simply not fair when you thought about it. Rodney could bet that no one would be eyeing him, thinking 'damn, that's hot', if he were in the same condition. It had been a while since anyone had thought he was hot under any circumstances, he thought ruefully. Not really anyone since Brian, who had warned him he was wasting his time trying for tenure and had taken off for New York without looking back. Great. Just what he needed—the realization that Brian had been right, damn it. Events were obviously conspiring to make this day as painful as possible. What did this guy want with him anyway? And should he insist on taking him to the hospital?

He walked back to the kitchen, turned off the oven and cracked the door so the bread wouldn't dry out, peeked doubtfully in at the soup (maybe the carrot had been a bad idea) and drank some more coffee. Curiosity eventually pulled him back down the hallway again. The door to his room was ajar; he pushed the door open and found his mystery guest face down on his bed, dark hair spiky with moisture; one arm flung out by his head, a damp towel clinging to his narrow hips. The pack lay on the floor beside the bed, a first aid kit lay open on the nightstand; there were remnants of bloody gauze and a packet of antibiotic ointment in the trashcan that had been borrowed from the bathroom. Rodney stared at the body on his bed, holding his breath in concern until the sound of a faint snore reached his ears.

Oh my. Well, he couldn't stay there like that. He'd just get cold again for one thing. Rodney tiptoed cautiously up to the bed, certain that the slightest sound would wake the sleeper and just a little concerned what would happen if it did. He needn't have worried; the guy was dead to the world and somehow Rodney just knew that wasn't the normal state of things. He stood at the bedside looking down at the sleeping man. The skin over long, lean muscles was rosy from the heat of the shower; Rodney suspected grimly he was out of hot water for the time being. He couldn't help an appraising assessment; the guy truly was gorgeous to look upon. He had the sense though that this wasn't a body carved out with long narcissistic hours in the gym; as he leaned in he could see a number of fine scars, evidence of fresh abrasions on one shoulder blade, the darkening of a day-old bruise along his ribs, another, older, along the back of one muscular and rather hairy leg. This was a body lived in, used hard on a daily basis.

Gingerly, Rodney picked at the edge of the damp towel until he could lift it up without touching the sleeper, unwinding it from the guy's hips and tossing it to the floor. He couldn't help a small gasp at the sight of the man's naked ass. He felt an eyebrow quirk upwards as he tilted his head and took in the entire view. Wow. The temptation to reach out and touch all that flushed, golden skin was strong and Rodney thumped the devil on one shoulder and covered the eyes of the angel on the other as he sighed and made his way into the bathroom.

The mirror was fogged over; the walls damp with steam. A pile of wet clothing lay on the floor near the shower; the sight of a handgun in a holster lying on the edge of the sink startled him as though he'd come across a rattlesnake unexpectedly. Rodney scooped up the dry clothes he'd provided and headed back towards the bedroom. Studiously, he tried not to look at the man as he rolled him over with an idea of dressing him in the sweats. The light from above fanned out over the bed, illuminating a neat row of staples holding together the angry looking flesh of the knife wound. He stapled himself. Rodney acknowledged that, yes, he used surgical staples from his clearly superior first aid kit, but just the same, the mind boggled at the thought of someone calmly assessing his injuries and then 'ka-junk', closing the wound with a staple gun. Without drugs. Without alcohol. Without a sound. Who was this guy?

As though in answer to his question, Rodney's eye now registered the dog tags puddled alongside the firm shoulder where they had slid after Rodney turned him over. Gently he lifted the tags where he could read them, angling the raised lettering in the light to peer at them. Huh. John Sheppard, Lt. Colonel. Well that explained a few things...

The man called John Sheppard moved slightly in his sleep, one hand twitching where it rested on his abdomen, one leg stretching slightly against the mattress. Rodney's eye roved over the well-defined pectoral muscles, noting the small, brown nipples cloistered in a respectable amount of dark chest hair. He followed the line of hair down the man's abdomen to where it met his groin and his cock nestled sleepily in a thatch of dark curls. Though Rodney's gaze lingered there a moment, his conscience made him turn away with a sigh. There were probably rules against ogling the unconscious stranger that had saved your life. Forget trying to dress the guy. He'd just pull down some extra blankets and keep the heat cranked up overnight.

He went to the closet, turning off the overhead light as he did so, relying on the light spilling out of the open doorway to the bathroom to illuminate his way. He pulled out the linens from the shelf; draping a sheet over the sleeping soldier and then tucking the comforter around him as well. The colonel shifted slightly with the touch of bedding and made a sleepy, inquiring sound.

"Relax," Rodney said quietly, feeling weirdly protective. "Everything's okay."

"Rodney?" The frown was evident in his voice. In the low level lighting, Rodney could see a faint hazel glimmer from half-open eyes. "Where are we?"

The logical answer was to tell the guy they were in safe Rodney's apartment, but for some reason Rodney answered instead, "Cambridge."

There was a long pause, in which Rodney thought John Sheppard had gone back to sleep, but then he heard the other man say slowly, "Massachusetts or the United Kingdom?"

Bemused, Rodney answered, "Our fair city, Massachusetts."

"Oh god," came the quiet reply. "We're on Earth? Talk about your wrong numbers..."

Rodney was still processing that one when John Sheppard continued. "Someone tell Ronon not to shoot the nice natives with the funny accents. Put Teyla on it; he'll listen to her." Another pause and then, "Who's got the first watch?"

Something about this whole conversation had the hair on the back of Rodney's neck standing up. Without knowing why, he answered, "I do. Shut up and go back to sleep."

Sheppard's teeth gleamed whitely in the dim lighting as he grinned. Rodney watched as his body seemed to relax infinitesimally and his breathing slowed. Slowly, carefully, Rodney picked up the pack and carried it with him as he exited the bedroom.

The smell of soup and warm bread enveloped him as he entered the living area and he set the pack thoughtfully on the coffee table. First things first: some dinner and then a little quality time with Google while he found out exactly who Colonel Sheppard was and what he was doing here.

***

He awoke with a start at the sound of someone moving in his kitchen. He froze, heart thudding painfully in his chest, until he remembered the odd encounter with the stranger from the night before. Strangely enough, the memory did not cause his heartbeat to slow down to anything approximating a normal rate. He started to get up and then flinched at the ache in his neck. He realized that he had fallen asleep on the couch, a blanket thrown around his shoulders, his laptop open and still running. Giving a mighty yawn and stretch, only to follow it with a groan, he stood, allowing the blanket to fall as he followed the scent of coffee into the small kitchen area, one hand massaging the back of his neck. Outside the window, the skies were gray with either the half light of early dawn or more weather to come. A glance at Rodney's watch confirmed the former, which caused him to mentally groan again.

The stranger stood with his back to the kitchen door, head and shoulders deep in Rodney's fridge. He was wearing Rodney's dark grey sweatshirt, which was too big at the neck and shoulders and revealed a dark green tee (also Rodney's) underneath. Instead of the sweatpants, he was wearing a very old pair of Rodney's jeans, the material washed and worn and faded to almost white in places. His feet were covered with athletic socks—presumably his own as Rodney did not possess any. As Rodney stood watching him, he straightened and shut the fridge door.

"Are you aware you don't have any food in the house, McKay?" John Sheppard did not turn to face him but instead opened a cabinet beside the fridge, sighing at the sight of dishes stacked within. "What's up with that?"

He turned then, a half smile on his face that did not quite meet his eyes. Despite the obvious 10 hours or so of sleep he got the night before, he still looked tired, dark circles like bruises shadowing his eyes. He'd shaved though, and somehow looked younger than he did last night. The oversized sweat shirt and the messy hair made him look more like a hungry teenager than an Air Force colonel.

"You obviously should not go to bed with your hair wet," Rodney heard himself saying sarcastically and then wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

John Sheppard cast a rueful glance upwards and then flicked his eyes sharply at Rodney, as though really seeing him for the first time. "It always looks like this."

"I bet that goes over well with the USAF."

"You've been checking me out." The half smile twitched at his lips again before it suddenly disappeared.

"I had all of last night to do so." Rodney chose to ignore the possible double entendre. "Funny thing is, the Air Force thinks you're dead. Did you know I had to disarm your clothes before I could wash them? I mean, really, what kind of normal person carries C-4 and grenades on them in Massachusetts, for crying out loud? Not to mention three knives and a handgun. I came up with two competing theories as to who you are and why you are here. Would you like to hear them?"

"Can we eat first?" The voice was plaintive. There had been a small flicker in the eyes when Rodney had mentioned his 'death' but then he was back to being Colonel Laid-Back again.

Rodney felt his eyes narrow. "Stalling for time won't do you any good..."

John Sheppard tossed up a hand in a semi-placating manner. "Not stalling. It's just that I can't handle being dazzled by your brilliance before 0700 unless fortified with food. I should have known you'd go through my stuff as soon as my back was turned."

Rodney felt his eyebrow raise in what he hoped was a suitably Spock-like fashion. He crossed his arms over his chest. "You expect me to make bricks without straw? I needed information. It's a capital mistake to theorize without data."

John Sheppard leaned back against the counter, crossing his socked feet at the ankles. "Okay, now see, you've quoted the Bible and Sherlock Holmes in the same little speech while justifying your need to invade my privacy. That counts as dazzling."

Rodney felt his mouth open and close briefly before he snapped his teeth shut. You're having way too much fun here, you know that, right? He gave himself a mental shake. "There's pseudo-stew in the fridge from last night. I offered, but you were comatose at the time. If you want something else, you're welcome to go out and buy us breakfast."

Sheppard made a big show of turning out the empty pockets of Rodney's jeans. "Pseudo-stew it is."

Rodney seated himself at the small kitchen table and ate the last of the toasted bread and butter while he watched Sheppard tackle the heated stew. At the first bite, he made a face and reached for the pepper before continuing to eat in silence. Holding a piece of toast between his teeth and carrying his coffee with him, Rodney went into the living room and came back with a sheaf of papers. Sheppard raised a wary eyebrow at him but said nothing as Rodney took his seat again. Rodney took a bite of the bread, set down the remainder and began to speak.

"Okay. So back to you and what you're doing here—specifically, how you seem to know me when I'm pretty sure we've never met."

Sheppard chased a chunk of potato around the bowl with his spoon and said nothing.

Rodney hummed under his breath. "Yes. Well. Right then. Okay. Well, for starters, your dog tags place you in the Air Force, but according to your records you were killed a few years ago in Afghanistan."

The hazel eyes met his briefly and then dropped to the soup bowl again. "I knew that was a bad mission," he said mildly.

"Yes. It would seem so." Rodney pushed a stapled wad of paper across the table towards him, Sheppard's military photo in the top corner and great sections of the text blacked out. "Your records, such as they are, mark you as a serious underachiever, which is a little suspicious in and of itself, you must have had to work at that."

"You'd be surprised." Sheppard took a sip of his coffee, flashing Rodney a cheeky grin over the brim of his mug. Rodney blinked and then frowned. He had just as good as called the guy a loser and he was amused, for crying out loud!

"You were survived by your father and your brother—no one attended your services, by the way." Rodney continued, flicking a glance over Sheppard as he spoke, noting the lack of reaction this time. He leaned back in his chair, sorting through more papers. "Obviously you are still in the military in some capacity, so I would have to assume that your death was faked and that you are on some sort of special ops assignment, only then we get to the tricky part."

Sheppard gave up all pretense at eating and pushed the bowl aside, not looking at the papers in question either, but resting his eyes silently on Rodney's face.

"Yes. Somehow, we have to account for you sneaking around wearing some sort of paramilitary regalia in a dark alley—in Massachusetts—in the middle of winter—while drenched to the skin...all the while knowing who I am—personally it would seem, as opposed to the abstract." Rodney watched in fascination as the Colonel shifted and looked uncomfortable. "Which brings us to the stuff in your pack."

The eyes upon him did not seem quite so friendly anymore and Rodney was reminded of how this guy had efficiently taken care of the thugs from the alley. "Yes, well." Rodney felt compelled to hurry on. "See, nothing in my first theory can explain this photo I took off the laptop you had in your pack." Rodney selected the picture out from the other papers and tossed it across the table. The stiffer photographic paper allowed it to sail with a flourish and land beside the soup bowl. Rodney acknowledged silently that using the special paper was a bit over the top, but he had been oddly attracted to the photograph and wanted to keep a copy for himself. In it, he was seated a table, hands frozen in the act of some explanation, John Sheppard lounging negligently in the chair next to him with his half-smile in place while a lovely woman with bronzed hair and skin laughed behind her hand and a huge man wearing leather and his hair in dreads smirked at him from across the table.

He watched with interest as John Sheppard lifted the paper from the tabletop. Hah. That got you.

"As you can see," Rodney continued smoothly in lecture mode, "that is a picture of me—however a 'me' that is somewhat heavier and with a better haircut, I freely admit, sitting with a group of people that I do not know." He spread his palms wide at the other man, who was still staring at the photo. "And," he added with special emphasis, leaning in to tap the table with a fingertip, "that was just the beginning of the weird and amazing things I found on that laptop."

"McKay." Sheppard laid down the photo and stared at him with narrowed eyes. "That laptop has a 15 digit password."

"Yes, well," Rodney chirped, pleased at being able to show off a little. "It occurred to me that it probably wasn't your laptop; face it Colonel, the weapons seem more along your line. Operating on the assumption that it wasn't yours, and paring it with some of the odder information I had already started to put together—are you aware that you talk in your sleep? Well, perhaps only when you're really exhausted, and you weren't making a whole lot of sense, but still, it was illuminating. Right. Well, then there was that truly unique piece of technology you had in the pack as well, which unfortunately does not seem to be working at the moment—as near as I can tell, it's out of power. Where was I? Oh yes, so anyway, I tried passwords that would work if it was my laptop."

"That was a pretty intuitive leap, Rodney." Sheppard gave a slow, unwilling smile and Rodney could not help the feeling of satisfaction that it gave him.

"Yes, well, hello, background in quantum physics, right? And of course the password turned out to be the numeric representation of 'Schrödinger' plus the year his cat problem was first published. Which brings me to my second theory about you." He paused and cocked his head. "Alternative universe?"

"Damn, Rodney," Sheppard gave a short laugh. "You are a fucking genius after all."

"Sadly, while this might be news to you, it is not to me." Rodney began to bounce a little in his chair. "Tell me something I don't know. Tell me about Atlantis."

***

Over the next several hours, Rodney managed to put together a picture of life in the Pegasus galaxy. It probably would have taken him less time if he had not gotten sidetracked on specific topics, such as the science behind the Ancient crystal technology, ('I don't know how it works, Rodney, you geeks swap those things around like you can tell them apart and things start working again') or if John Sheppard had been more forthcoming ('That's on a need to know basis, McKay and you don't need to know'). It was hard thinking of the guy sitting across from him at his kitchen table as an intergalactic Lt. Colonel in the USAF; Rodney had an easier time picturing him on a surfboard or on the ski slopes. Every now and then though, Rodney would run up smack dab into the Colonel without warning and though it caught him off guard at first, he found himself accepting it more and more as the discussion continued.

Eventually though he had the basics: in Sheppard's universe, the development of the Stargate program had allowed for the travel to other worlds, other galaxies even, though not without the potential for catastrophe. Rodney's AU counterpart was part of an elite team that had gone on an expedition to Atlantis (Rodney had just barely controlled the urge to squeal and thump the table top when he heard that part) to explore the Ancient culture that had seeded the universe with the Stargate system in the first place.

More specifically he discovered that John's team had been exploring an Ancient ruin, described in the database as the Temple of Windows, in the hopes of finding an alternative power source (the discussion of zero point modules and how they extract vacuum energy from subspace being one of the more lengthy digressions off topic) when the temple was caught in a flash flood, causing the section that Sheppard was in to collapse. Separated from the rest of the team, trapped in a small room that was rapidly filling with water (Rodney had visibly shuddered on hearing this; his worst nightmare come true), Sheppard had no choice but to activate the device that they had only discovered moments before, opening a 'window' into another universe, this universe. He'd leapt through, only to arrive in the alley during Rodney's attack.

"Which is pretty convenient, as I would have come looking for you anyway if I had run into trouble trying to get back home again."

Sheppard had given what Rodney had to come to believe was his trademark half-smile as he rested his hands on the table, toying with the device. It was small; about the size of a cell phone, but shaped more like a largish egg, with raised, geometric patterns on the side of its blue and grey surface.

Rodney had liberated the device with a "Give me that" only to see the faint glow that had surrounded it fade out again. Which led to Sheppard's explanation of the extremely rare ATA gene and how Dr. Carson Beckett had developed the gene therapy that allowed those with the dormant form of the gene to become active again. Rodney felt positively jealous of his AU counterpart.

"That doesn't mean I wasn't right before. I think this thing is almost out of power." He waved it at John Sheppard, who merely held out his hand for it again. Reluctantly, Rodney turned it over to him.

He took it into his palm, turning it with long fingers as though coaxing it into life again. The device glowed feebly; even fainter than before. "I think you're right. That's going to be a problem. So much for my just heading back to the alley this morning." Sheppard sighed, placing the object on the table between them.

"You just leapt through this 'window' without knowing where you'd end up and whether or not you'd be able to get back again?" Rodney was incredulous at the thought once more.

"Let's see, leap into the unknown or stay and drown for certain." Sheppard made a show of weighing each option with his hands. "Tough call."

"Well, I don't know what you expect me to do." Rodney gave the device a little push towards Sheppard with the tip of his finger. He ignored the pang he felt at the thought of Sheppard disappearing from his life as rapidly as he had arrived. Damn, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this excited about anything, only it seemed he was going to have to disappoint Sheppard in the end. "There's no Stargate program here, no access to Ancient technology or power sources. Seriously, you planned to seek me out once you figured out where you were? I would have thought you just needed to sit tight and wait for your McKay to find you."

A tightness passed over John Sheppard's features. After a moment, he said, "I've been in similar situations before. Sitting and waiting doesn't always work, especially when you're in danger of freezing to death. Besides, I had to bring the device with me to come through the window. Once they dig out the temple, they'll still have no way of opening the window or figuring out where I've gone. I'm kinda counting on you to help me, Rodney."

Rodney felt both pleased and appalled at Sheppard's matter-of-fact trust in his ability to solve this problem. "You don't want much," he said gruffly, scooping up the alien device and turning it over is his hands.

"Oh, c'mon Rodney," Sheppard said lightly. "Is this some sort of universal constant? You telling me, usually in exhaustive detail, why something can't be done and then pulling a miracle out of your ass at the last second?"

"No doubt with you leaning over my shoulder and repeatedly asking 'are we there yet?' as I try to work," Rodney huffed.

Sheppard's eyes widened and then crinkled at the corners as he laughed briefly, stopping abruptly to place a hand over his side with a grimace. Some undefined emotion tracked across his face like a brief, sudden summer storm, leaving him looking exhausted again.

"You okay?"

He nodded, lifting his fingers dismissively in Rodney's direction as he rested his hand on the table once more. "Ribs are a little sore. So. What's the plan?"

"Well," Rodney began slowly, entranced by the alien artifact again. "First we need to determine the power needs of this unit—then we can extrapolate from there whether or not we can make a reasonable substitute from the energy sources we have at hand. After that, we'll need to adapt those sources to the unit—all before we can even attempt to make it operational. I suppose you want me to write a user's manual for the device as well, seeing as you don't seem to know how you made it work. What were you thinking when you activated it?"

"Don't drown?" Sheppard quipped. He sighed when Rodney fixed a narrowed eye on him and then looked a little uncomfortable again. Rodney took advantage of what he viewed as a momentary chink in the armor.

"I'm going to need to know more about how you make this Ancient tech stuff work for you as things progress, so forget about holding out on me. For now, I want to take this down to the lab—I keep my more delicate tools there. Let's see if we can figure out what makes this baby tick." He stroked the unit almost lovingly and found himself flushing when he looked up and caught Sheppard's eye upon him, an odd expression on his face.

"Well this is getting us nowhere." Rodney stood up abruptly. "Let's go to the lab." He frowned when he looked down at Sheppard's socked feet. "Your boots are probably still wet. Let me see what I can find for you to wear."

When he returned to the kitchen with a pair of old hiking boots in hand, Sheppard was straightening up from where he had bent over to set a dish of cat food on the placemat near the kitchen door. "I must be scaring off your cat," he said with a grin. He indicated the bowl of canned food, a faint fishy odor wafting into the air. "Thought maybe it would come out to eat while we're gone."

Rodney stood staring down at the dish. His mouth opened and shut before he heard Sheppard say, "Rodney?"

He looked up to see Sheppard staring at him in concern. "He's dead."

"What?" Sheppard's face paled and he got very still.

"My cat." Rodney swallowed hard. "I had to put him to sleep. Kidney failure."

Now it was Sheppard's turn to open and close his mouth several times before his face fell and he said, "Aw jeez, buddy. I'm sorry. When?"

"Yesterday morning." It seemed a lifetime ago.

Sheppard looked stricken. He reached down for the dish.

"Leave it," Rodney said crisply. "It's no big deal. You couldn't have known. It's just a cat. C'mon. We've got to go."

Sheppard ignored him and scooped up the bowl of food, dumping it in the trash can and rinsing the dish out in the sink. There was a line of tension to his back that was disturbing to Rodney somehow.

They managed to get out of the apartment, Rodney bustling around with papers, laptops and miscellaneous materials bulging out of his pockets. He'd reclaimed the orange parka for himself and loaned Sheppard the top to his old ski suit, a dark navy nylon with sky blue piping, which looked far better on Sheppard than it ever had on him. The silence weighed heavily between them as they rode the elevator until Sheppard spoke.

"I'm sorry about your cat, Rodney."

Rodney turned to snap at him not to be so stupid but when he looked at the other man, Sheppard was standing with his hands shoved into the pockets of his borrowed coat, looking hunched against the cold even though they were still indoors.

"Don't be." He was abrupt, but less cutting than he had planned. "He lived a good, long life." He gave a soft laugh, which caused Sheppard to look up at him, his expression easing a little at something he saw in Rodney's face.

"What was his name?"

"Schrödinger. Yes, yes, I know, how original, but I was pretty young at the time and I thought it was cool." He rolled his eyes at Sheppard who shrugged.

"That explains how you cracked the password so easily. You probably went around telling people he was wanted: dead or alive, didn't you?" Rodney snorted at Sheppard's joke, upgrading his basic intelligence another notch. Sheppard appeared lost in thought for a moment and then frowned. "How young were you?"

"Hmmn? Oh. I guess I was about nineteen."

"Nineteen? But that means... jeez, Rodney. You had him half your life."

"Yeah." Rodney found himself grinning at Sheppard's raised eyebrow. "I found him in a dumpster. He was so small he fit into the palms of my hands." Rodney briefly held out his hands towards Sheppard like a small bowl, papers threatening to spill out from under his arm where he had them clamped to his side. "I was living in a place with a strict no-pet policy and I couldn't get out of my lease for months, so I taught him to hide in a beer cooler whenever anyone knocked on the door until I gave the all-clear to come out. And for nearly 20 years, that's what he did whenever someone came to the door. " He paused, suddenly embarrassed. "God, listen to me. That's so pathetic. Rambling on about my dead cat."

Sheppard had been listening with an odd expression on his face but as Rodney stammered to a halt, he suddenly gave a brittle smile that made Rodney wince mentally.

"Sometimes we need to talk about those we've lost. Makes them seem closer somehow." The elevator doors opened and Sheppard pushed himself off the back wall of the elevator, stepping out into the foyer and pausing to wait for Rodney without looking back.

***

The inanity of Sheppard's distracting questions did not cease to amaze Rodney even as his ability to deal with them in a calm and rational manner deteriorated as the day went on. Rodney slammed his hand down on the desk and shouted, "That's it! I've had it. You're out of here."

"You're kicking me out of your lab?" Sheppard's voice was both amused and incredulous.

"Yes, yes, I am. If indeed, you want to be back in your own universe by Christmas, so that you can decorate things as you see fit, then yes, I am kicking you out of the lab." He glared furiously at the man, who looked completely unrepentant. Rodney was not used to such a lack of concern on the part of someone he had just 'fired' from the lab and he had a sneaking suspicion the Colonel had just set him up to do so.

This outburst had been triggered by Sheppard's complaint, rather like a bored five-year-old, that he didn't understand why Rodney refused to decorate his apartment for the holidays. Just when Rodney was performing a rather delicate assessment of the remaining power output of the small crystal located within the alien device. He needed that data to determine what the original power capacity must be in order to generate the subspace window, which would in turn tell him how much power he needed to come up with to do the same.

"Here." Rodney pulled out his wallet and peeled off two hundred dollars in twenties, shoving them in Sheppard's direction. He had stopped by the bank first thing that morning and now he was glad that he did.

"I'm not taking your money, McKay." Sheppard did the arms-crossed thing as he leaned negligently against one of the worktables.

Rodney waved the bills before slapping them down on the countertop. "Please. You're doing me a favor. Consider it a mission or something. Go pick up sufficient groceries to get us through the next few days, then come back and pick me up when you're done—I'll need your help getting this stuff back home. And for your information, decorating is a pointless holiday tradition performed by people who live in groups for the benefit of their neighbors." He pulled out his key ring and detached his apartment key from the rest, placing it together with the twenties.

"What are you talking about, Rodney?" Sheppard did the smirk/half-frown thing as he pocketed the money and the key. "People decorate for the holidays because it makes them happy."

"Noooo," Rodney said with the kind of exaggerated patience that emphasized its absence altogether. "You either put up lights and holly and all that crap because you want to impress your neighbors or because you like looking up at your window and seeing it all lit up when you come home. If however, you live alone, there is no one to turn the lights on first and besides, you end up being the one putting the crap up as well as taking it down. As I said, pointless waste of time if you ask me."

"Bah, humbug." Sheppard grinned, easing himself back into an upright position.

"Oh, and like no one has ever said that to me before." Rodney waved a hand over his shoulder as he hunkered down over his equipment again. "No citrus, by the way, because I'm..."

"Yes. Allergic. I know. I've been hearing that at least once a day for...well, for what seems like forever," Sheppard finished lamely.

"Oh. Right. Okay then. Now go away. Oh wait." He looked up, suddenly disconcerted. Sheppard paused in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. "You're not going to get lost, are you?"

Sheppard frowned in what seemed to be real, albeit mild, annoyance. "I think I can navigate my way around a strange city, McKay."

"Well, okay then. If you're sure." He watched as Sheppard gave him a dismissive wave and sauntered off down the hallway. Finally. Now maybe he could get some work done. While the analysis was being run on the power output configurations, he pulled out the second laptop and a notebook. He began scanning the documents located within at high speed, noting down names as he went. A tiny part of his brain wanted to hyperventilate quietly at the remembrance of the bank visit this morning, but he shut it away ruthlessly. Yes, it was probably not the smartest thing he had ever done, emptying his bank account on a whim, but damn it, he was tired of pinching and saving. Of starving. For now, he intended to use his money as he saw fit and the hell with the consequences.

Once his list was complete, Rodney began to Google names.

He was startled out of a doze at Sheppard's return. Blinking blearily at the man who had just touched him on the shoulder, he sat for a few moments in confusion until he recognized the drawl. "Hey buddy, you okay?"

"Oh, you're back." Rodney rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his shoulders. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night. Give me a minute and I'll pack up."

"Find anything useful?" Sheppard had his hands shoved into the pockets of the ski jacket as he looked around the wreckage of the lab. Rodney carried his coffee mug to the sink and rinsed it out before collecting the remains of protein bar wrappers that were littering the countertop around him and dropping them in the trash.

"Depends on your definition of useful." Rodney sighed as he packed up the laptops and shoved all his papers into a battered briefcase. "I know how much power we need now."

"Something tells me I'm not going to like the answer."

Rodney shrugged. "Know where we can get our hands on some weapons grade plutonium?" He was tempted to make a reference to the 'flux capacitor' but he thought maybe Sheppard wouldn't get it.

"Shit," Sheppard said with feeling. "Why am I not surprised? Oh well, you'll think of something." He came around the corner of the desk and began collecting the already packed items.

It was on the tip of Rodney's tongue to say, "Um no, I'm afraid there's nothing else I can do" but instead he folded his lips into a thin line and continued packing up all his notes. The silence lasted as they made their way out of the building and down to the bus stop. It wasn't deliberate on Rodney's part, he was just thinking, thinking hard about the things he had discovered during the course of the day. He was startled to discover it was dark outside; he'd had no idea it was that late. Sheppard seemed content to travel in a companionable silence, carrying half of Rodney's gear and reminding Rodney when it was time to get off the bus. As they walked the remaining blocks home, a fine, gritty snow began to fall, the kind that could mean business. Rodney turned up his coat collar and pulled in his chin against the wind, trudging home silently. When they neared the apartment building, Rodney glanced up at his window and was startled to see it edged in tiny white lights. He stood, mouth agape, looking upwards until he felt someone nudge his shoulder.

"Let's go inside, McKay. I'm freezing my ass off out here." The words were brusque, but there was a smile somewhere in his tone.

"I can't believe you spent my money on Christmas decorations." Rodney groused half-heartedly as they rode the elevator up to his floor.

"Don't have a cow, McScrooge, it was just a set of lights." Sheppard rolled his eyes and then ran his hand through his hair, shaking out the snow, cheekbones reddened from the cold. The light from above caught droplets of melting snow on his jacket, as well as the first traces of silver visible in his sideburns and Rodney forced himself to look away, suddenly uncomfortable with this sudden brush with mortality. With Sheppard's mortality. He played with his keys nervously until the elevator reached his floor.

When they crossed the threshold into the apartment, Rodney stood transfixed in the darkened room, illuminated only by the set of icicle lights surrounding his windows. The odor of baking meat and cheese filled the air and he inhaled deeply as he finally set the equipment down, switching on the lamp at the end of the couch.

"Lasagna will be done in a bit. Want a beer with that?" John Sheppard hung up his jacket on the hook near the door and came into Rodney's apartment like he owned it. Rodney supposed he did have all afternoon to get himself acquainted with the place and looked at it himself with fresh eyes, wondering what sort of impression it had made on the stranger from another universe. Aside from books and his CD collection, he pretty much put all his money back into his research and the shabbiness of the little apartment reflected that. Funny how it had never bothered him before.

He stopped before a bookshelf, lightly touching a framed photo of his much younger self with an adolescent grey tabby draped over one shoulder, both of them slyly glancing into the camera lens. He picked up the photo of himself and Brian from a few years ago, the taller man casually draping his arms around either side of Rodney's neck, much like the pose he shared with the cat. Rodney wondered what Sheppard had thought when he saw it—or whether he had even noticed it at all. He wondered too why he still had it sitting out. It was a long time ago. He set the picture back on the shelf. Really, it was high time he put it away for good.

"Rodney?"

He turned to see Sheppard frowning at him from the kitchen, a bottle of beer in each hand as he held them up questioningly. Molson. His favorite. He felt his smile crook at his mouth as he walked over and took a beer. "Okay, so here's what I've learned so far," he began, only to have Sheppard cut him off with a raised hand.

"Nope. Shut your brain off. You've been at it all day, McKay. It'll go better if you give it rest."

"But..." he started in protest.

"No. No 'buts'. Food first. No science for at least an hour."

Rodney gave in with poor grace. He could only assume later that the food-coma induced by the decadent lasagna was what allowed him to be suckered into watching Christmas specials after dinner. Seriously, it was only because he was warm and his belly was full and he was comfortably ensconced on the couch and it was too much effort to get up when Sheppard shoved his feet over to sit down beside him and reached for the remote.

"Why are we watching 'Rudolph'?" he asked in a pained tone.

"Shut up. I want to see the Island of Misfit Toys."

"You are a Misfit Toy," Rodney complained, which earned him a flashing grin and he unaccountably gave in—again, his brain noted. What was it with this guy?

Later, with the television off and NPR quietly playing jazz in the background, they began to discuss possible solutions to Sheppard's dilemma. Rodney ('Oh you mean I'm allowed to speak again?') described the energy requirements for creating even a small subspace window that would allow Sheppard to return to his universe, even without the added problems of determining whether or not the window opened was the correct one, or if it was safe for Sheppard to go back through it in the first place. The empty bottles of beer began to stack up on the coffee table.

"We just don't have anything capable of generating that kind of power," Rodney finished his explanation. "Not safely or outside of a nuclear reactor."

"Soooo, are you saying I'm stuck here?" Both of Sheppard's eyebrows climbed into his hairline.

"I'm not giving up just yet—hell, I've only been at this a few hours, relatively speaking, and there's a lot of material in the laptop I've not yet covered—I could be overlooking something simply because I don't have the all the appropriate information just yet. But you might want to be thinking about what you would do if you couldn't get back."

"I don't belong here, McKay." The hazel eyes seemed to glitter with a banked fire as they looked at him. Rodney felt compelled to continue the fiction that there was something he could possibly do, that this was a problem that he could eventually solve.

"Well, fortunately, I'm a fast reader and it helps that I understand my own thinking, so reading my own papers has proved relatively easy—though I do have to make sure I'm not missing some major, key point. I've done all I can do in the lab for the moment. Tomorrow I'll catch up on the rest of the reading. Carter's got some good stuff here, Zelenka too." He had almost gagged when he had seen Kavanaugh's name as a contributing author on one paper; it really, really made him sick inside.

"It's a good thing someone understands your way of thinking, because..." The teasing smile that had started with the banter suddenly snuffed out.

"Because?" Rodney prompted with a frown.

Sheppard looked at a loss for words and was obviously scrambling to change his original train of thought. "Well, because... when we need someone to help figure out your thinking, we have to draft Jeannie, and you know how hard it is to pry her away from her family." He gave a weak grin.

Rodney literally felt all the blood leave his face. It was a weird sensation; like someone had punched a hole in his heart and all the blood was gushing out of it. "You know Jeannie?" His voice rose on her name.

"Relax, Meredith. I haven't hit on her. She's your sister, and besides, she's married." John shot him a very cocky-flyboy sort of look that faded when Rodney did not rise to the bait.

"She's dead." Rodney carefully set down his empty bottle. "She died in a car accident four or five years ago. She never got married...I...I convinced her that her work was more important, so she...and then..."

"Shit." Sheppard gaped at him. "Shit!" He said more vehemently. "I'm so sorry." He looked a little helplessly at Rodney and then got up and returned with more beer for the both of them.

"Not your fault." Rodney stared down at his hands dangling between his knees, fingers fluttering briefly as he dismissed John's guilt. "You couldn't have known, any more than you did about Schrödinger. I do blame myself though. If she had married whatisname, the tofurkey guy, Colin..."

"Caleb," John supplied, handing Rodney a fresh beer as he sat back down on the couch.

Rodney shot him a sharp look as he sat up and took the proffered bottle. "Whatever. Point being, if she had not taken my advice, she would've never been on that road to the university in the first place. She wasn't sure what she wanted and I browbeat her into going." He took a swig out of his bottle and then squinted at Sheppard. "You're telling me she's been to Atlantis too?"

"Hey, she's still a McKay. They're sort of useful to have around." Sheppard shrugged, seemed to think of something and then sat down his beer, lifting his hips to pull out a wallet from his back pocket. He extracted some rather battering looking photos and handed them over. "Here."

The first was of a small girl with dark blonde curls, grinning unabashedly at the camera as only the very young can do. In the second, a thin, dark haired man that Rodney recognized as the tofurkey guy was hugging the small girl with a grin of his own as they sat on the front porch of a house. In the third, Jeannie was wearing a mock disgruntled expression as she faced the camera, hand on one hip, eyebrow raised, a crooked smile tweaking at her mouth as she obviously had been caught at the last second by the camera-wielder. "Ohmygod," Rodney breathed as he looked at the pictures, lightly touching Jeannie's face.

"I know it's not the same," John cleared his throat uncomfortably. He picked up his beer again and took a drink.

Rodney looked up, feeling his face split into a smile briefly. "No, it's not. But it helps a little—in a totally weird sort of way." Jeannie must have been pregnant with Caleb's child at the time. No wonder she didn't tell him—he could imagine what his reaction would have been then. He probably would have heartlessly suggested an abortion to decrease the surplus population and advised her to get on with the important matters in her life, regardless of what she wanted herself, because that was what would have mattered to him. He looked down at the photos in his hand and began to frown. Something wasn't right here. Carefully placing them on the table, he sat up and looked Sheppard square in the eye. "Do you always carry around pictures of my relatives?"

Sheppard got that look that could only be described as 'deer-in-headlights'. "I...um, well..." he faltered.

"That's my wallet, isn't it?" Rodney pointed at Sheppard's back pocket and went on determinedly. "You've got my laptop. You aren't waiting for your McKay to figure out a way to get you home. You don't expect help from that end because, ohmygod, he's dead, isn't he?"

Sheppard closed his eyes and looked as though he were waiting for the universe to blow up around him. When he opened his eyes again, their expression was shuttered. "Yes."

"Well, I don't know why you couldn't have said that in the first place," Rodney said crossly. "It's not like it has any bearing on what we're trying to accomplish here. What, did you think I'd freak when I found out?"

Sheppard gave a short laugh without humor. "If anyone's doing the freaking, it's me, McKay." He rubbed his forehead briefly and then leaned with one arm stretched along the back of the couch. "Look. We've lost a lot of people since the expedition has begun. People that were important to me. I just wanted...you know, just for a little while..."

"To pretend nothing had happened to me." Rodney glanced down at the photos on the table and then back at Sheppard's face. "I can understand that." He paused, taking a swig of his beer. "So. How'd I die?"

"McKay!" Sheppard's mouth dropped open in shock and then he sat up and pushed Rodney in the shoulder.

"What? I'm entitled to know! The Pegasus galaxy sounds like a pretty dangerous place. Was it the Wraith? Radiation poisoning? A radical experiment gone out of control?"

"We should have never gone to the Pegasus galaxy," Sheppard said darkly, eyes turning inward at other memories. "If we had just left well enough alone..."

"You couldn't have known at the time. Face it, we've been bumbling around here in my universe in blind ignorance of the existence of the Goa'ould or the Ori and from what I've read today it's is just a matter of time before they come here and claim Earth for their own. Only, without the Stargate program, we're just sitting ducks."

"Some would argue that without the Stargate program, we wouldn't have called attention to ourselves in the first place." Sheppard began picking at the label on his bottle of beer, rolling the little bits of paper into tiny balls as he sat without looking at Rodney.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Face it. We're in serious trouble here, and I've spent the day hunting down the people involved in the program as outlined in the various articles on the laptop—including a very nice synopsis by one Daniel Jackson outlining the history of the Goa'uld and the whole System Lords thing. Look." He jumped up and went over to the briefcase, dragging it back to the couch and pulling papers out of it. "Here." He perused his Google list. "Of the people mentioned by name in these articles, I can only determine the whereabouts of a handful." He really saw no need to tell Sheppard that he actually knew Kavanaugh. "I found Radek Zelenka at a university in the Czech Republic. I had actually read some of his work before— I mean the Zelenka in my universe of course, but this guy of yours? Not bad. Oh and here, Carson Beckett—he's the guy that did the ATA stuff, right? Well. He's a teaching hospital in Edinburgh. But Elizabeth Weir seems to have disappeared off the face of the Earth—of course, she could have gotten married or something, but I can't find her anywhere. Carter, who never made it past major, is married to some cop with two kids and is working with NASA on a satellite program, Colonel Jack O'Neill died in a hunting accident about 10 years ago..."

"Jack O'Neill doesn't hunt."

"Well, maybe not the one you know, but..."

"Rodney."

"Look, my point being, most of the key players in your Stargate program are not available for whatever reason. This planet is in trouble. Maybe not today, maybe not even in my lifetime, but we are spiraling for a showdown with enslavement or extinction and I think it may be too late to stop it."

"No one is indispensable, McKay." Sheppard's expression had become tight during Rodney's exposition. "Maybe a different set of people would have avoided some of our worst mistakes."

"Or gotten us all killed in the first week. I still think you should take me back with you when you return to your universe."

"What? No!" Sheppard sat upright. "No way. I can't just bring you back with me like you're some replacement part from Home Depot, for crying out loud!"

"Please. Surely I would be much more likely to have come from Sharper Image."

Sheppard gave a short bark of laughter and then reached forward, placing his bottle of beer on the table. He laced his fingers, supporting his weight on his elbows against his knees as he dropped his head and studied the floor.

"I could do more good in your universe," Rodney said logically, ignoring Sheppard's disquieting posture. "Face it, your universe could use me. Much better than mine is using me here, that's for sure. I'm nothing but a second fiddle here."

"You want to know how you died, McKay?" Sheppard's head snapped up, eyes flashing and dark with anger. "We went on a stupid fact-finding mission. Checking out some energy emissions, cause you know, we always need more power. And on this stupid planet where nothing existed but weeds, I go and touch some weird mushroom that knocks me flat on my ass with an energy blast. And we go home, thinking that's the end of it, right? But nooooo." His face contorted in a grimace and he wiped the expression from his features with one hand, looking away.

"What happened?" Rodney asked quietly.

Sheppard began speaking again while staring at the far wall. "The fungus was an alien entity that entered our subconscious minds through our dreams. It lived off fear. It looked like me. It pushed people harder in each dream until it began killing them. When it got a hold of you, we came up with a plan to put me into your subconscious as well so we could try to chase it into a containment field. I got to see what it did to you, Rodney."

"Um...I have a lot of fears to choose from." Rodney realized he'd been holding his breath only when he started to speak. "I mean, my subconscious, that's a pretty messed up place."

Sheppard looked briefly like he'd been punched in the gut before he started to speak again. "Shortly before all this happened, you'd found a way to reactivate the Replicator code so they would go back to their war with the Wraith. It seemed like you'd killed two birds with one stone, in one move pitting our two worst enemies against each other and undoing some of the mess I'd made in waking the Wraith in the first place."

Sheppard smiled at him then, a painful smile full of sharp little shards of glass. "Then we found out that the Replicators were wiping out all human populations in the galaxy so as to starve the Wraith out. You couldn't have known that would happen—you had only reset the code that the Ancients had created in the first place, the one the Wraith turned off. But you were beating yourself up over it just the same. And the entity used that."

"Holy shit." Rodney breathed.

"Yeah." Sheppard's voice was bitter. "And I couldn't stop it from killing you."

Showing more courage than he expected of himself, Rodney asked, "What did it make you see?"

"I was the last man standing in a deserted Atlantis. Ironic, huh?"

***

Sheppard had wound down after that, falling into monosyllabic responses to any question. Rodney tried to get him to say more about how they defeated the entity, but other than learning it was sensitive to electricity, Sheppard would elaborate no more. He continued to drink beer and watched Rodney with an intense, hooded expression until finally Rodney decided enough was enough and they should call it a night. They argued briefly about who would take the couch, but Sheppard won by saying Rodney needed a good night's sleep and it was his turn anyway.

Rodney retired to his room, tossing and turning, thumping his pillow and generally unable to get comfortable. He had finally slipped off into an uneasy doze when he became aware of the presence of someone in his room. He squinted at the form silhouetted in his doorway, outlined by the lamplight from the other room.

"Sheppard?"

"Sorry. I couldn't sleep. I was looking for something to read." Sheppard started to turn away.

"Right. And there was nothing that struck your fancy among the seven hundred or so books in the living room."

Sheppard stopped, raised a hand and tilted it in a 'you know' fashion as he spoke. "You've got mostly texts out there. I was looking for the cool sci-fi stuff." He spoke lightly. No big deal.

There was a long moment of silence and then Rodney scooted back on the bed, lifting one end of the covers and holding them open in invitation. He held his breath as he watched Sheppard stand in his doorway, noting the sudden rigidity to his stance. He thought as the moment seemed to stretch into infinity that he'd made a mistake when suddenly Sheppard quietly crossed over to the bed and eased into it. He slipped in carefully, as though he were not sure it would support his weight, turning on his side away from Rodney, who merely dropped the blankets down over the other man's shoulders. Sheppard gave a tiny, shuddering sigh, as though he had been very cold and could now feel the warmth seeping into his body again.

Rodney closed his eyes, very much aware of the other man's body lying so near his own and hating himself because of that fact. He felt the tension ooze out of Sheppard's spine, felt his respiration rate slow down, recognized that they would soon both be asleep. He could do this. He was just being a good pal here, trying to help a guy out who was feeling a little lost, that's all.

So he was startled when Sheppard started to speak.

"We've lost so many people, Rodney. Good people. Men under my command. Scientists who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Team mates. Friends." He rolled on his back and faced the ceiling. "People I considered family."

Rodney continued to lie quietly on his side, not daring to even open his eyes, sure that if he moved, the confession would stop and somehow he knew Sheppard needed to get it all out of his system.

"Ford. Carson. Elizabeth." The names were like the edge of a sharp knife dragged across Sheppard's skin, a bright red ribbon of pain welling up in his voice after each utterance. "And then you." He gave a short laugh. "Christ. Everyone I know is going to die and leave me behind."

"No they're not." Rodney opened his eyes and studied Sheppard's profile, the light from the hall catching his eye and making it seem golden from within. "We'll find a way to get you back where you belong so you can go back to saving the universe. This maudlin streak you've got going is what happens when you mix beer and Burl Ives."

Sheppard tipped his head back on the pillow and laughed hard, Adam's apple moving in the light, emphasizing the leanness of his neck. He brought a hand up to hold his ribs as he did so. "God, I've missed you." He turned his head slightly so as to look into Rodney's face, still smiling.

Rodney really, truly did not know how to reply to that, so he merely reached out and awkwardly squeezed Sheppard on the shoulder. The heat of his skin radiated through the thin material of his t-shirt into Rodney's palm and Sheppard made a sharp intake of breath at the contact.

"Sorry, sorry." Rodney pulled his hand away quickly.

Sheppard rolled over onto his side to face Rodney and placed his hand on Rodney's chest as though to push him away, but somehow his fingers splayed wide across Rodney's collarbone and rubbed at his skin through his t-shirt. As though fascinated with the movement of his own hand, he watched it as it smoothed its way carefully down Rodney's chest and abdomen, reaching the edge of Rodney's tee and sliding up underneath to make its way back up again. Rodney sighed and arched slightly into the contact of the warm hand with his skin, closing his eyes as it burned its way up his ribs and out across his chest, lightly thumbing a nipple in passing, his shirt bunching up around Sheppard's wrist. The hand made its way down across his side again, reached under his arm and down to explore his back, pulling Sheppard inexorably closer in its wake.

Rodney reached out for Sheppard as well, snaking his own hand under Sheppard's tee and smiling at the small gasp that elicited. Afraid he might break the spell, he mirrored Sheppard's movements with his own; slow, languid explorations with hands that evolved into closer body contact even as respiration rates climbed and he felt the barest film of sweat starting to form on Sheppard's skin. He felt the chain of Sheppard's dog tags slide over the back of his hand as he ran his fingers across Sheppard's chest. He skated past the metallic line of staples closing yesterday's knife wound, fingers avoiding the memory as though it were his own skin. Instead, he slid a hand into the waistband of Sheppard's borrowed boxers, tracing the edge of the clothing from back to front before dipping down to where Sheppard's cock was aggressively making itself known against his leg.

As he took Sheppard in hand, the man made an inarticulate sound of pleasure and then grabbed Rodney by the back of his head, pulling him in for a brutal kiss, all muscle and heat and desire. His other hand wormed into Rodney's boxers and he gasped into Sheppard's mouth at the firm grip around his cock. He felt Sheppard laugh underneath his lips but still the kiss went on, even as their hands began to pull and twist in tandem.

Rodney wanted to make this last, wanted it to be memorable, and he knew that was stupid because that wasn't what this was about. He brought Sheppard to the edge with long, firm strokes, impossibly slow, thumbing his slit and feeling the slickness of precome on his hand, giving each stroke a finishing twist that had Sheppard gasp every time. Just when he could feel Sheppard's body tighten like a bowstring, he shifted down to cup his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers before moving away again. A palm on the inside of Sheppard's thigh had him thrusting his hips for more contact but Rodney's master plan for slowly bringing Sheppard to the best orgasm of his life got derailed when Sheppard released the back of his neck and slid his hand down Rodney's spine, into his boxers and cupped his ass, pulling him closer by forcibly lifting his hips up off the mattress, his other hand tightening on Rodney's cock. They were so close now that hands were confined by their bodies and restricted by their clothing but it didn't matter. Everything was heat and movement and now.

Rodney came first, losing his rhythm with Sheppard and clutching at his shoulders as he bucked into Sheppard's hand. Then he was rolled onto his back as Sheppard pushed up his shirt, pinning his arms above him and biting at his exposed skin. Rodney closed his eyes and arched into Sheppard's strength, reveling in the hard leanness of the body pressing him down into the mattress, the rasp of hair against sensitized skin. He wanted to wrap himself around Sheppard, fold him into his body until there was no longer any delineation between 'Rodney' and 'Sheppard'. Still griping Rodney's arms with a hand on each wrist, Rodney's shirt bunched up at his armpits, Sheppard began to thrust against his body, making soft wordless cries that sounded almost as though he were in pain before he too began to shudder and jerk as he came. Afterwards, he laid his head against Rodney's shoulder, his breath slightly dampening the material of the shirt while Rodney idly stroked the back of his neck. Rodney's last coherent thought was that things were going to be mess in the morning.

***

Sheppard was gone when Rodney woke. He lay in his bed, listening to the empty, dead sound of the apartment and knew a moment of anxiety at the thought that Sheppard had bolted, that he was gone for good. The cold stillness of the apartment was not conducive to getting up out of bed, but eventually the need to know what had happened to Sheppard drove him into rising. Rodney slipped on a grubby, plush robe over his sticky clothing and padded into the bathroom.

One of the towels on the rack was damp, as were the walls of the shower. There was no evidence of Sheppard's things, but with the exception of the first night when he had fallen into an exhausted sleep, Rodney noticed that Sheppard kept his bag packed at all times, so that really didn't tell him much. A quick glance into his small laundry area revealed Sheppard's own clothes were gone, as well as the boots that had been drying on the radiator, and the borrowed clothing was now in the hamper.

Rodney gave a small sigh of relief when he entered the living room area and saw that the laptop was still set up on the coffee table, and that Sheppard's pack, though ominously close to the door, was still present. The Christmas lights were unplugged. In the kitchen, last night's dishes had been washed and put away. The coffee maker was set up, but not turned on. Rodney's key lay on the counter, along with the remainder of the money he'd given Sheppard the day before. There was a chill that suggested the room had been empty a long time. Rodney flipped the switch for the coffee maker and looked out the window at the cold, grey street below. Moisture trickled down the window pane with an occasional tinkling sound that indicated it was probably a mixture of rain and sleet. With a totally different kind of sigh, Rodney headed into the bathroom for a shower.

Sheppard had still not returned when Rodney re-entered the living room. He'd dressed initially in a light blue turtleneck and khakis until he realized he'd subconsciously chosen an outfit that imitated his AU counterpart's working uniform and cursing, had stomped back to the bedroom and rifled through his clothing until he came up with something as different as possible. He threw on the hideous plum colored fleece pullover Jeannie had given him their last Christmas together and his oldest pair of jeans, the ones with acid burns and fraying cuffs. Shutting out the sneaking suspicion that Sheppard had cut all his losses and wasn't coming back at all, Rodney ate scrambled eggs and toast while standing at the kitchen sink (not looking out the window at all, by the way) and then he refilled his coffee mug and made himself comfortable in front of the laptop again. Sheppard or no Sheppard, he was still going to read as much as he could about 'his' work in the Pegasus galaxy.

It was both depressing and exhilarating at the same time. The smug superiority of his counterpart's scientific journals irritated him, and yet when he read the results of each one he felt that not only was the superiority justified, but that he was potentially looking at Nobel-worthy achievements. Nothing that he himself had ever worked on had even come close to the magnitude of accomplishment that seemed to occur on a weekly basis by his AU self in the Pegasus galaxy. His own work seemed anemic in comparison and he could suddenly understand why Webster did not see him as tenure material. He could not help but envy his alternate self, cool, confident, successful, performing well under extreme pressure...Rodney couldn't help but picture McKay and Sheppard on their first contact missions—a sort of dynamic duo. Sheppard was probably laconic and lethal, a James Dean with a side arm, while McKay was most likely the smooth negotiator, the problem-solver, a sort of James Bond with a Mr. Science twist. He imagined the two of them, working with a terminal deadline, coolly trading witty barbs while everyone else around them panicked. No wonder Sheppard missed McKay. He was an impossible act to follow.

He tried (but failed miserably) not to picture the two of them at day's end, mission successfully accomplished, the praise of their colleagues still ringing in their ears as they headed back to their quarters. Sheppard (no, John) would follow McKay into his room, shedding clothes with purpose as he stalked into McKay's space; McKay eyeing his progress with a knowing smile. Rodney's mind supplied the image of all that amazing skin from the first night when Sheppard lay stripped on his bed. His hands wanted to reach out and touch it, slide over muscle and sinew, feel Sheppard's mouth on his own again. With a mental shake he turned his thoughts back to the laptop with a sigh. He had to focus on the work at hand.

Around three pm, he decided the day was dreary enough that he was justified in turning on the Christmas lights.

He was unable to resist looking at his watch when he finally heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. It was nearly five in the afternoon; the day had flown by. Rodney glanced around the room, the remnants of a ham sandwich and chips on a plate, various papers taped to the walls and the nearby lampshade, both computers up and running different programs, giving mute testimony to the obsessive manner in which he had passed the day. He listened with his whole body as the footsteps slowed in front of his door and let out the breath he did not know he'd been holding when the handle turned and Sheppard entered the apartment.

Or rather, the Colonel entered the apartment. Rodney took one look at the man before him and recognized that the Colonel was in charge again. He was silent as he hung up the ski jacket, making no attempt to shake the icy droplets from his hair. There was no sign of the boyish smile or the teasing expression that Rodney had come to associate with Sheppard, only a cool hardness in the lines of his face. He'd even dressed for the part, wearing a black turtleneck over his military pants, which Rodney could tell now were not black but a dark grey. This wasn't the guy who had put up Christmas lights the night before. This was the guy who dispatched street thugs and stapled his own knife wounds.

"Hey." Rodney swallowed; mouth suddenly dry.

"Hey." Sheppard's eyes slid around the room, taking in the graduate student feel of things and connecting briefly with Rodney's again. There was no answering smile to Rodney's self-conscious smirk and without another word, Sheppard entered the kitchen.

So this is how we're going to play it, huh? Just pretend nothing happened last night? Rodney knew he should not be surprised but he was just the same. He was also surprised by how much it hurt. What did he expect, for god's sake? The man was military and god knows how good they were at denial. Not to mention the whole weird aspect of Rodney being the doppelganger of his best friend—his former best dead friend. They obviously had a relationship and Sheppard was really hurting last night and crap...Rodney had taken advantage of him. Fuck.

Rodney felt his face heat up and then bleed away into paleness in the space of time it took Sheppard to re-enter the living room with a cup of coffee. He sat down across from the couch in the only chair, a large shabby recliner. From where he was sitting, Rodney could see the cat hair leap off the fabric of the chair and attach itself to Sheppard's shirt. Rodney dragged his eyes away from where Sheppard sat cradling the cup of coffee in his hands, savoring its warmth with long fingers wrapped around the mug. One of the laptops beeped and he thankfully addressed the signal indicating the program was done.

"Any luck?" Sheppard's voice was clinically professional.

"I have a lot more information now." Rodney frowned at the screen and then transferred the data to another program he'd written to calculate the energy distribution curves of the Ancient device during operational parameters. "At least I think I can make this thing work now, provided that I can come up with an alternative power source."

"Look, I don't want to take up all your time..."

"Don't be an ass," Rodney said much more sharply than he intended. "I have few commitments at this time of year and this is the most exciting stuff I've had to work on in years...possibly in my whole life."

Sheppard's startled eyes flicked up then, a moment of humanity visible beneath the armor. Rodney ploughed on.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Rodney allowed some of his hurt to lash out. "My entire life has been dedicated to the theoretical pursuit of the physics that you guys are actually using. It's the equivalent of..." he floundered for a moment, trying to come up with an analogy that Sheppard could understand. He snapped his fingers several times rapidly when the thought came to him. "Suppose you had spent your whole life studying about the mechanics of flying and creating theorems to prove that flight is possible only no one has ever actually done it and everyone tells you it can't be done and then you find out that there are people over in the next universe that do it every day."

The expression on Sheppard's face told him that his analogy had hit home but then it became shuttered again. "You yourself said that you weren't going to be able to generate enough power to create the space/time portal needed to get me back home. I may be stuck here permanently. I can't just stay here in your apartment..."

"You aren't giving me a chance to process the information completely." Rodney was getting really angry now. "Anyway, what do you think you're going to do without money, without an identity? Not to mention the inconvenience of my having to hunt you down every time I need clarification on a particular point. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable, but don't take it out on me by cutting me off from this technology. I need more time, and you've got nothing to lose by granting me that." He hated the little tremor in his voice by the end of his speech.

Sheppard had tightened his mouth in a grim line during the beginning of Rodney's argument but his expression had altered subtlety by the time Rodney finished. Unfortunately, Rodney had no idea what was going on in Sheppard's mind.

"Right." His voice had no trace of the lazy drawl now. "More time. So tell me what you've got so far."

Rodney dove in, walking Sheppard through his notes and computations thus far, not noticing that he had forgotten to maintain his distance from Sheppard until he discovered he was leaning across him to grab a specific sheet of paper. He got flustered at that point and lost his train of thought but Sheppard just closed his eyes briefly and looked as though he were counting to ten slowly and then Rodney forced his brain back online again.

"So," Sheppard said, voice a little less taut when Rodney finally wound down. "What you're telling me is we need more power." His eyebrow was sardonic and Rodney remembered the confession of the night before, the search for more power that had ultimately led to the death of Sheppard's Rodney.

Not knowing what to make of his tangled emotions at the thought of 'Sheppard's Rodney', he tried making light of the subject. "Yes. We need more power. I appreciate that you refrained from adding a Tim Allen caveman grunt at the end of that sentence."

"Who's Tim Allen?" Sheppard frowned.

Which was how they came to be watching Galaxy Quest after dinner. Thankfully, Rodney was not called upon to explain either Star Trek or Gilligan's Island as they watched the DVD, if he had, he would have decided that Sheppard's universe was truly fucked up. It had been a little tricky to get the Colonel to watch the movie with him—he couldn't very well argue that he'd been forced to watch Rudolph the night before—not without invoking memories of the Incident Which Did Not Happen. He'd gone for casual (remember that comedian I mentioned?) and pled exhaustion (gosh, I think I need to take a break) and he had known it had not fooled the Colonel. But he had watched it anyway. And laughed. Repeatedly. Rodney counted that as a small victory but in what war he was not sure.

The tension returned to Sheppard's body towards the end of the movie—Rodney had forgotten the ludicrously touching scene where one of the aliens died—but then the movie reached its hilarious conclusion. Afterwards, Rodney sat watching the local news while Sheppard took his turn in the bathroom. Keeping one eye out on the weather report, Rodney began clearing the couch so Sheppard would have a place to sleep, only to have his attention riveted to the screen at the reporter's mention of the next story to follow the commercial break. "Sheppard!" Rodney called out urgently. "Get in here!"

He was not prepared for Sheppard to show up at the door, Beretta in hand. The man before him was suddenly once again the shadow from the alley, all in shades of black and grey, the weapon in his hand an extension of his overall lethality. Rodney was also not prepared for just how hot that looked or the shiver of attraction that ran through him at the sight. He must have gaped stupidly at him, because Sheppard quickly realized there was no emergency and put the safety back on before placing the gun on the end table. "What is it?" He growled.

Rodney blinked at him. He noticed Sheppard had been avoiding using any sort of name for him all evening.

"What?" Sheppard repeated, impatiently.

Rodney suddenly remembered why he had called Sheppard. "They're about to interview Daniel Jackson on the news."

Dr. Daniel Jackson turned out to be a distracted looking man with the air of a perpetual graduate student as he answered his interviewer's questions from an exhibit hall downtown in the Natural History Museum. Rodney recognized the 'I can't afford a decent haircut' style of coiffure, noting that it worked better on the slightly built, bespeckled man than it did on he himself. He and Sheppard both sat on the edge of the couch, leaning in towards the screen as they listened. Rodney had thought to pop a video tape into the player during the commercial break and they were taping the interview, so he allowed himself to tune out what the archaeologist was saying and concentrate on the surrounding display.

Without thinking, he slapped Sheppard's upper arm repeatedly with the back of his hand. "Did you see that? Did you see that?" He bounced with excitement.

"See what, McKay?" Sheppard leaned a little away from Rodney, his expression a combination of 'don't do that again' and 'let's humor the nice crazy man'.

"Later. Shut up now." Rodney was transfixed by the screen again.

When the brief puff piece interview was over, Rodney leapt up and grabbed the remote, rewinding the tape. "There!" he said triumphantly as he paused the scene. Behind Jackson's right elbow there was a drawing that depicted a stylized Egyptian figure holding an object whose markings were distinctly Ancient in design.

"I can't believe you even noticed that in the background, McKay." The amused tone had crept back into Sheppard's voice, but Rodney had no time to analyze what that might mean. Instead, he pulled up the document menu on the AU laptop and opened one of the Jackson articles, scanning it rapidly before leaning back with a sigh of satisfaction.

"I wondered why your...my counterpart had so many of Jackson's articles on file—really, not my sort of thing at all, only it turns out that this Ra guy was big into stealing technology from other civilizations, Ancient among them. And lucky us, Daniel Jackson is in town with the Ra Exhibit currently on tour. If we can get a good look at the exhibit, especially the uncatalogued items, we might just be able to find something to use as an alternative power source. Some naquada maybe. Or even a crystal that can be modified to fit the unit." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"That he's just going to willingly turn over to us." The drawl was back.

Rodney shot Sheppard a dirty look. "I don't see why not. It's clearly not ancient, as in really old, Egyptian in origin and as a result is probably not part of the main exhibit."

"Funny, I've never known these scientific types to part with any of their toys, whether or not they can use them."

Rodney knew that was meant as a dig towards him in some sort of twisted way. "Well then Colonel," he said with a false smile, "you'll just have to exert that weird little innate charm of yours and persuade him otherwise."

***

Dr. Jackson was a disappointment. In person he was no less distracted and he seemed somewhat disorganized as well. Rodney had a hard time reconciling him with the man who had written the articles he'd read on the Goa'uld. Even Sheppard seemed a little taken aback when they finally were ushered into his presence. They almost didn't get to see him at all, but Sheppard had released the full power of his smile on the woman at the information desk and gotten her to take Rodney's folded slip of paper to the archaeologist.

"What's in the note?" Sheppard had drawled out of the corner of his mouth as they waited for the response.

"I copied some of the text off the side of the device. Jackson's a linguist; he won't be able to resist." Rodney clutched the handles of his duffle bag impatiently.

Sheppard's raised eyebrow and half-smile of approval shouldn't have felt so good.

Rodney had been right and they had been escorted into the archaeologist's work area. Sheppard had started with a disarming, "we were just curious..." but Rodney cut right to the chase.

"You know that some of the artifacts in your exhibit are in fact, not ancient Egyptian in origin. As a matter of fact, these strange artifacts actually support your one-time theory that the Egyptian culture did not originate on Earth."

Daniel Jackson gaped at Rodney and then shut his mouth abruptly. "I don't know where you came across that theory, but it was never published and you can't connect it with me. I think it would be better if you both just left now." He looked defensive and angry.

"Leave?" Rodney shot back incredulously, even as Sheppard was laying a restraining arm on his own and staying in a warning tone, "McKay..."

Rodney slapped Sheppard's device on the table between himself and Jackson. "You were right," he hissed as Jackson picked up the device and turned it over slowly in his hands, tracing the lettering as though it were Braille.

"Where did you get this?" Jackson's bemused expression faded and his tone was suddenly sharp.

"It doesn't matter." Rodney snatched the device back and thumbed open the back panel, lifting out the small crystal within and showing it to Jackson. "Have you seen anything like this before?"

Slowly Jackson had nodded, and then rummaged around in several drawers before coming up with a small leather drawstring bag. He opened it to reveal several crystals of various shapes and sizes, spilling them out onto the tabletop. Rodney ignored the archeologist's babbling demand for an explanation as he sized up the crystals and compared them to the one from the device, holding them up to the light. Sheppard had snorted when he pulled out a jeweler's lens to examine the crystals and Rodney had flicked an eye in his direction, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at him before ignoring him as well. Trying not to tremble in excitement, he selected a crystal and placed it within the device. It fit with a tight 'snick'. Holding his breath, he handed it over to Sheppard. The entire device began to glow strongly and then suddenly went dark.

Rodney felt his alarm spike up, but Sheppard's slight negative head jerk made him relax again. Rodney realized that somehow, Sheppard had turned the device off.

Jackson, his mouth still slack with disbelief, stood staring at the two men. Before he could recover enough to ask what was going on, Rodney turned towards the archaeologist. "Your theories were valid, Dr. Jackson, just untested. But it's not too late. You can prove them now, you can..."

Jackson interrupted by holding up one hand and closing both eyes. "Look, I don't know who or what you people are, but the whole reason I never went public with my 'alien origin' theory is because I would have been laughed out of academia. As it is now, I'd be branded a lunatic on the same order as the Chariots of the Gods theorist. I've got a family to support; I just can't put my professional reputation on the line like that."

"But you're right." Rodney was flabbergasted by his attitude. "More than just right, there's a whole world, well, many worlds actually..."

"Let it go, McKay." Sheppard cut him off.

"But..."

"Drop it."

Everyone looked at each other for a long moment. Then Sheppard turned to Jackson. "Dr. Jackson. I know you don't know us and all of this is a bit strange to you right now, but we really need that crystal, and as Dr. McKay pointed out, it really isn't Egyptian in origin."

"What do you need it for?" Jackson wasn't particularly belligerent, but Rodney got the impression that he could be implacable if he didn't believe the answer he was given. Sheppard traded a glance with Rodney that seemed to acknowledge the same thing.

"Sheppard. Tell him."

Sheppard shot him an 'are you crazed?' look but then sighed. "These artifacts...the ones that are different, the ones that don't fit...they belong to another culture, a much older one, highly advanced. This one," he lifted up the device in his hand, "opens a window between dimensions and I...uh, accidentally came through."

Dr. Jackson stared at the two of them for a long moment and then took off his glasses to polish them. "You accidentally came through from another dimension?" His tone was mild as he replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"We need the crystal to get him back where he belongs." Rodney leapt in. "He doesn't belong here, he needs to go home. He won't tell you that, but it's the only way he can get back to where he needs to be."

Sheppard fixed an unreadable look on Rodney's face. Jackson seemed to be following the by-play between them. "Okay," he said at last, "prove it."

He went over to a packing case on a nearby workbench and lifted out a small cardboard box. Checking the identifying markings on the label, he opened the box and removed a small globe, similar in appearance to Sheppard's device. He held it out towards Sheppard.

Sheppard's face lit up. "Hey, I recognize this one. It's a kid's book." He lightly took hold of the device, smiled at it in a friendly sort of way and then a blue beam shot out from the side and began to project a small scene in the air in front of them, tiny figures moving in animation. Jackson gaped at the sight; Rodney felt like copying him. The scene abruptly shut off and Sheppard gently replaced the globe on the desk in front of Jackson. "Not Egyptian," he said firmly.

"No shit," Rodney breathed. Sheppard shot him a wry look. Jackson just looked stunned.

In the end, they came away with the crystal.

"How'd you know he'd give it to us if we told him the truth?" Sheppard asked him curiously as they waited for another taxi.

"Everything I read by Jackson suggested he was very much a 'go with your gut' kind of guy." Rodney was feeling very smug, hugging to himself the knowledge that he had met, maybe even exceeded, Sheppard's expectations of finding a suitable power source. He turned to Sheppard abruptly and frowned. "What made you listen to me when I said to tell him the truth?"

The wind caught playfully at Sheppard's hair, making him suddenly look very carefree as he smiled back at Rodney. "I'm a 'go with your gut' kind of guy myself."

***

"I still say..."

"No."

"But you haven't even..."

"No."

"I don't see why..."

"No, goddamn it, Rodney, don't make me say it again."

"I think you're being unreasonable." Rodney huffed, hoping that Sheppard would not realize that he'd called him by name, feeling that would actually hurt his argument at the moment.

It was near dusk. They were standing in the alley in front of the wall where Sheppard had first crossed into this universe. After the meeting with Daniel Jackson, Rodney had insisted that they go back to the apartment and check the power levels of the crystal against the predicted energy levels that the unit to be needed to be fully operational before even considering going to test the device. He had then used every delaying tactic he could think of until Sheppard insisted they get a move on before they lost all the light.

"You're not coming back with me, and that's final." Sheppard slung the backpack over his shoulder, adjusting the tabs and checking the tac vest as he stood ready to go back to his universe. The ski jacket lay abandoned on the ground; he appeared not to notice the cold. His hand came to rest lightly on the end of his holstered weapon.

"You wouldn't have to worry about me, if that's what is bothering you." Rodney's voice was quiet over the background street noise. "I get it, you know. You and McKay had a relationship—we don't. I wouldn't, you know, pester you or anything."

Sheppard's head whipped around and the look he shot Rodney was incredulous. "McKay and I did not have a relationship," he ground out. "Not a relationship, relationship. I...he...he was dating someone, for crying out loud!"

"Huh." Rodney snorted. "That's what you think."

"McKay wasn't gay!" Sheppard hissed, really angry now. "I'm not gay."

Rodney crossed his arms, admittedly a less effective gesture in the orange parka. "Oh please. Who said anything about being gay? I think gender is irrelevant anyway. What matters is who you are attracted to—whether they happen to be male or female is immaterial." He shook his head. "I don't know why we are even arguing about this, I just said I would leave you alone. But for the record? I suppose hand jobs between friends don't count, is that what you're saying? Or is there a technical default when you don't make it out of your clothes?"

"We are so not having this conversation." Sheppard glared at Rodney and then turned to face the brick wall of the alley. He raised the device towards the wall and closed his eyes in concentration. The device glowed brightly in his hand and the wall before them shimmered; a narrow black opening appearing before them.

"Is that it?" Rodney asked in awe. "Wait, wait, wait!" He yelled as Sheppard started to move forward. "You don't know if that's the right window. You don't even know if the room is still underwater." He knelt quickly and opened the duffle bag he'd brought with him, pulling out a digital camera that he had taped to a short dowel rod. "We'll just push the camera through first..."

"MALP on a stick." Sheppard's voice sounded odd, a strange sort of tension present.

Rodney shot him a sharp look. "MALP?"

"Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe."

Rodney began to bounce a little at the idea. "Yes, I see, I get it. Well something like that. Of course, it will only give us limited information, but it's better than just blindly walking through into a room that's potentially underwater."

Sheppard was surprisingly patient with him as he ran his test, pulling out the camera and reviewing the footage shot in near blackness. The camera wasn't wet on recovery, which was a good thing and there seemed to be some ambient light from farther into the room, but more than that Rodney could not say.

"Good enough for me." Sheppard seemed to square his shoulders to move forward.

"Wait!" Rodney shouted again and then modified his tone when Sheppard looked back at him. "I mean, that's it? You're just going to walk through the portal—just like that?"

A distant rumbling could be heard overhead—a low flying jetliner Rodney's brain suggested, even as he could not take his eyes off of Sheppard's face.

"Yeah, Rodney." Sheppard's voice was tired and Rodney found himself remembering again how exhausted he was when he had first arrived. "Just like that."

"Well, crap." Rodney floundered for words. "This isn't really how I thought, well, this wasn't what I...aw hell, wait. I have something for you." He knelt down again, tugging at the straps on the duffle, wondering why it suddenly got so much darker in the alley, like the sun had dropped behind a building. The rumbling got louder, vibrating under his feet, making his very teeth ache. A shadow loomed overhead, blacking out the remaining light. Rodney looked up. "What the fuck is that?" He whispered at the sight.

"A Goa'uld mother ship." Sheppard's lean fingers encircled his wrist, pulling him to his feet and towards the portal. "C'mon. You're with me."

***

They came through the portal into almost total darkness, Rodney staggering at the change in lighting and footing and going down to his knees, even as the portal closed behind them with an audible 'pop'. The glow from the device in Sheppard's hand immediately surged and then it began to whine in an increasingly intense pitch, causing Sheppard to curse and hurl it aside, just as is exploded in a shower of orange sparks and blue flame. The afterimage that burned on Rodney's retinas left him scrabbling in the muddy soil, trying to make out his surroundings while muttering 'ohmygod' repeatedly as he tried to process what had just happened to him. The odor of wet muck assailed his nostrils; his feet slipped out from under him as he tried to stand. The darkness closed around his chest like a fist in a velvet glove and the feeling of claustrophobia was suffocating.

"You okay?" Sheppard's voice came out of the darkness, echoing weirdly in the small chamber, reminding Rodney of their first meeting.

"No, I'm not okay!" Rodney lashed out. "I've just witnessed the beginning of the end of life as we know it on my planet and I've leapt through the space/time continuum into an alternate reality which appears to have dead-ended in a sealed tomb. There is no 'okay' in that picture!"

There was the sound of a velcro tab being opened and then a small but powerful flashlight switched on. Thankfully, Sheppard did not aim it at Rodney's face, but made a sweep of the surrounding area.

"I thought this was your idea in the first place. And aren't you the one who said your world was running on borrowed time anyway?" He sounded distracted as he checked out the chamber, flashlight moving towards the suggestion of natural light descending down a stairwell in the far corner of the room.

Rodney began to hyperventilate. "That was when I thought it was in the future—something I should worry about and should really take steps to address—like global warming—but still far enough in the future that I didn't really have to worry about it right now." He paused, forcing himself to take a deep breath and then listened suspiciously to the sounds coming from Sheppard's direction. "You're not laughing, are you?"

"No," Sheppard said unconvincingly. "Because that would be really...um, inappropriate."

Rodney found purchase for his feet and staggered upright. "You are...you're laughing at this!"

A slight cough came from Sheppard's direction. "I'm sorry. It's just I've never heard someone put a Goa'uld invasion on the same par as global warming before."

"Global warming is a serious matter!" Rodney bellowed.

The flashlight suddenly bobbed towards him and he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. "Whoa." Sheppard's voice was soft. "Take a deep breath, buddy. It'll be okay."

"Tell me this gets better," Rodney began to speak rapidly, clutching at Sheppard's arm. "That this feeling that you've really fucked up and made a terrible, irrevocable mistake goes away and this mind-numbing nauseating fear doesn't paralyze you for the rest of your life."

Sheppard gave his shoulder a reassuring little squeeze before letting go and moving away. "Not only does it get better, but after a while, you start to enjoy it a little. Weird, huh?"

Rodney promptly threw up.

***

It took them some time to make their way out of the ruined temple. Sheppard made Rodney sit for a bit and take small sips of water from his canteen while he went and scoped out the passage back to the upper levels. Thankfully, he wasn't gone too long.

"Someone's dug out the passageway, but it's a tight fit in places. We'll need to go slow and make sure nothing shifts as we move along."

"If this is your idea of reassuring..." Rodney began.

"We have a way out. You should be happy, McKay."

"Squeezing through a passageway narrow enough to simulate the birthing experience is not exactly high on my lists of things that make me happy." Damn if it didn't sound like Sheppard was snickering again.

He didn't really believe that he had traveled to another galaxy. Okay, when they stumbled out of the temple into warm sunshine and grassy meadows, he knew the shock of translocation—but it was no different than if he had gotten on a plane in snowy Boston and flown to sunny California in the same day.

"We're on an alien planet, right?" He'd said to Sheppard's back as he followed him up the trail out of the ravine and through the woods, shedding his parka and stuffing it under one arm as they walked. "So why does it look like the Pacific Northwest?"

"Maybe it's the other way around," Sheppard offered.

Rodney shut up at the sight of the Gate. Sheppard explained how the DHD worked then dialed Atlantis, awing Rodney with the creation of the event horizon, giving the city his IDC and asking them to lower the shield. "So we won't splat like bugs on a windshield," he explained pleasantly. Sheppard seemed to be rather full of himself since their return to his universe, insufferably amused for some unknown reason. He fished a radio earpiece out of his pack and then, almost as an afterthought, pulled out a hand held unit instead to contact the city.

"Atlantis this is Sheppard."

"Colonel Sheppard. This is Carter." The woman's voice could be clearly heard over the hand unit. "We're very pleased to hear from you. We'd begun to think...well, never mind. Are you alright?"

"Just dandy, Colonel." Sheppard shot Rodney a sideways glance. "Be advised I've picked up a stray that I'm bringing back through the Gate with me."

"Would you care to elaborate on that? You know how I feel about surprises, John."

"Trust me, Colonel." Sheppard grinned wickedly as he spoke. "Some things you've just gotta see for yourself. Sheppard out."

Rodney stared quizzically at the other man. "Um, I know it's none of my business...well, I take that back, I actually think it is my business. Don't you think it would be wise to give Colonel Carter a heads up on my appearance in your universe?"

"Sure," Sheppard drawled. "But it wouldn't be nearly as much fun."

Stepping through the event horizon felt like he had walked into a refrigeration unit and then was pulled like taffy through it and dumped out on the other end. He was still trying to catch his breath when he staggered out of the Gate behind Sheppard, clutching his duffle by its muddy handles, into the most beautiful room he had ever seen.

The ceiling vaulted away and up into a balcony area above, a curving staircase connecting the two areas. The Gateroom was surrounded by towering stained glass windows that reminded Rodney of Frank Lloyd Wright, through which light streamed down on the floor below. Rodney turned in circle as he took in the breathtaking beauty of the room, stopping to face Sheppard who seemed to be basking like a cat in the light flowing down from above. A half-smile on his face, he appeared truly at home for the first time since Rodney had met him.

Several people were in the process of descending down the stairs towards them but their progress seemed to bobble a little. The tall blonde in the lead recovered first, lifting her chin a little belligerently as she continued down the stairs. Her outfit struck Rodney as vaguely military; he assumed this was Carter and judging from her expression, she did not share Sheppard's sense of humor. Next to her a smallish man with a halo of fuzzy hair almost stumbled as he saw Rodney, stammering something incomprehensible in a foreign language thick with consonants and pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, as though to correct his vision. Beside him a lithe, athletic woman with coppery skin and hair moved with grace down the stairs—she slowed on seeing Rodney, shooting a quick glance at Sheppard. Rodney recognized her from the photo.

They arrived more or less in a half circle in front of Sheppard and Rodney. Sheppard took the lead. "Hey everyone, I think you all know Rodney. I spent the last few days in an alternate universe and Rodney decided to tag along on my return. Rodney, this is Colonel Carter, our expedition leader. And Radek Zelenka—he's been in charge of the labs since...well, in your absence. And of course, this is Teyla, one of my team members."

"Oh hey, Zelenka! I've read some of your papers. Good stuff." Rodney stepped forward and pumped Zelenka's slack hand.

"Colonel." Carter's smile was brittle as she nodded at Rodney stiffly and jerked her head at Sheppard. "A word with you, please."

"I'm in troub-le," Sheppard singsonged in Rodney's ear as he stepped around him.

"Is he going to be alright?" Rodney said in an aside to the copper-skinned woman. She was wearing a leather bodice-looking affair over military style pants and he had to keep from staring at her. "I mean, it was my idea to return with him—he was against it from the start only then the aliens started attacking and we didn't have a Stargate program and my planet was totally toast. He's not really going to get in trouble is he?" Sheppard appeared to be getting a restrained dressing down from Carter. He had his fingers laced in front of him, legs braced in a mock at-ease stance as he stared down at his hands, nodding slightly at her words, a faint smirk on his features.

The woman from the photo looked at Rodney thoughtfully. Really, she was the most stunning woman he had seen in a long time. Carter was pretty hot too. And of course, it went without saying Sheppard was hot. If it weren't for Zelenka, Rodney would start to think this was the Mary Poppins universe—everyone being Practically Perfect in Every Way. Zelenka, he noted out of the corner of his eye, had removed his glasses and was polishing them furiously.

"I am sure Colonel Sheppard had his reasons for bringing you with him into this universe," she said at last. "I do not believe he is really in trouble, though he might have been more diplomatic in how he presented his case. I believe he has chosen to be deliberately...outrageous...at this time." She gave Rodney a quick once over with a searching glance. "I have not seen this side of him in a very long time." She looked back thoughtfully to where Carter continued to speak to Sheppard. "I believe Elizabeth would have been more understanding."

"Maybe I should just go over there and present my side of things." He sensed her reaching out to grab his arm but he evaded her and moved with purpose over towards Carter and Sheppard.

Carter ceased to speak as Rodney closed in and he noted Sheppard's face had that shuttered look again. Really, he was the most complicated man Rodney had ever met—probably because he seemed so simple on the surface. Just what kind of game was he playing here with Carter? It was almost as though he felt the need to poke at her authority with a sharp stick. Both Carter and Sheppard turned slightly to face Rodney as he approached.

"Colonel Carter," Rodney began, firing off his sentences rapidly in hopes of avoiding interruption. "It was my idea to come to this universe. Colonel Sheppard adamantly vetoed it from the beginning. So really, if anyone's to blame, it's me. "

Carter shot a sideways look at Sheppard. "Really." Her tone suggested disbelief without actually making it a question.

"You know how persistent Rodney can be." Sheppard shrugged.

"John." Carter's voice held a note of concern. "I know that we haven't yet replaced Dr. Heightmeyer, but if you need to..."

Sheppard looked insulted and as though he were about to speak rashly, so Rodney jumped in again. "He refused to let me come back with him. He was all set to return to this dimension when a Goa'uld mother ship appeared overhead. We had no Gate program—no means of defending ourselves." Rodney took a deep breath. "If I had remained behind, I would have been killed or enslaved."

Carter's eyes widened at the mention of the Goa'uld and she whipped her head around to stare at Sheppard.

"Seemed like a waste of resources to me," he shrugged again.

"Dr. McKay." Carter spoke slowly, as though testing out the words. Rodney got the feeling this was not how she had referred to his counterpart. "While I appreciate that Colonel Sheppard had some justification in allowing you access to this universe, surely you can see that it would be impossible for you to assume the position of...well, our Dr. McKay here in Atlantis."

"Well, if it is a matter of clearance, I'm sure you can get it for me," Rodney began irritably. "As for lacking the proper background, I know that I have years of material to catch up on, but I'm a quick study and sleep is overrated anyway. You can treat me as you would any one of your new science team members—at least until I am up to speed on the city systems, the Ancient language, the naquada generators, the Gate systems and what am I leaving out? Oh yes." He felt his face fall. "The Replicator code."

"McKay..." Carter began helplessly and Sheppard's expression took on a 'see I told you so' look.

"Oh wait! Look, I can pay my own way. This has got to count for something, right?" Rodney knelt quickly, opening the duffle bag and withdrawing an object wrapped in a towel. With a flourish, he unwound the towel as he stood and supported the object with one hand for viewing. "Ta-da!"

"Is that a...no, it can't be..." Carter began in wonder before trailing off.

"McKay! Did you steal a ZPM from the Ra exhibit?" Sheppard dropped his jaw briefly before his face split into an honest-to-god smile.

"Well, it's not like they were using it," Rodney said darkly. "They had it on a shelf marked 'unknown artifact 312-A'. Besides, aren't you the one always complaining about needing more power?"

"You brought us a ZPM?" Zelenka was suddenly part of the conversation, eyes bugging out behind his lenses, hands reaching forward for the unit. Rodney swung it protectively against his chest, hands sliding around to cradle it as a mother would a child.

"I don't even know if it has any charge, but yes, I brought a ZPM." Rodney's voice started out sharp, the unspoken 'mine' coming across loud and clear but then modified when he realized he was the person with the least experience here. "I thought maybe...we could check it out? Together? I mean, that only seems fair, since I was the one who brought it with me."

Sheppard began to laugh, caught Carter's stern eye, tried to contain it and then lost it helplessly when Carter began to giggle herself.

"Oh dear, I'm probably going to regret this," Carter said at last, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "Welcome to Atlantis, Dr. McKay."

***

"McKay, wake up!" The pounding on the door coincided with the chipping of his watch alarm. Rodney rolled out of bed, staggering to the door as he fumbled with the watch, checking to make sure he was at least wearing boxers before opening the door.

"What is it?" He gaped at Sheppard who was standing in his doorway, looking a little disconcerted himself. "Is there an emergency?"

"Depends on your point of view," Sheppard drawled, suddenly relaxing into the door frame, folding his arms across his chest and canting his hips to one side. "Jeannie's here."

"What?" Rodney was stunned. The watch fell to the floor, forgotten. "How? Why? What am I supposed to do?" He started to panic, looking wildly about the room as though the answer to his dilemma lay there. The room was stark, without personality, stripped bare of his predecessor's belongings, all packed for shipment home. Rodney had been glad enough to fall asleep the night before in the ridiculously small bed, his bones pouring into the mattress from sheer exhaustion. He'd spent hours in the labs with Zelenka; the ZPM proving to have been fully charged.

Sheppard bent down, collected the watch and straightened, seeming to take pity on him. "There were a few personal items she wanted to collect herself, and then Carter had asked her to look over something that...her brother had been working on. Guess with all the excitement, Jeannie's imminent arrival was forgotten. C'mon, hurry up and get in the shower. Teyla's bringing you some clean clothes." Teyla being the woman Rodney wanted to call Xena and he had to write himself a note the night before to prevent him from doing just that.

"Sheppard." Rodney could hear the agonized stress-fracture in his voice. Sheppard gave a little shrug and handed over the watch. Rodney knew he could not get out of this one. He fled into the bathroom without another word.

When he came out again, Sheppard had been joined by Teyla and a huge man with dreadlocked hair and a scary countenance. A smile quirked at Sheppard's lips as Rodney practically skidded to a halt abruptly on entering the main area, clutching his towel around his waist. "Rodney, meet Ronon."

The giant from the photo. The guy whom his counterpart frequently called...Rodney indicated Ronon with his hand, oscillating a finger rapidly to make his point. "Him? I referred to him as the 'caveman'? What was I, suicidal or just monumentally stupid?"

There was a small exchange of glances between three people standing in his room, a silent and incomprehensible communication between the 'team' that shut him out. It stung, even thought he knew it shouldn't, that he had no right to feel that way. He suddenly was very much aware of his state of undress. He wanted to die from mortification. His student-like lifestyle had kept him from gaining too much weight post-graduation but it didn't leave much time for working out. He felt the blush start at his ear tips and work its way down his neck and chest. Rodney snatched the stack of clothing from Teyla's hands. "So what, my room has become Grand Central Station? All of you—get out. I want to get dressed."

Surprisingly, they were all waiting in the hall when he came out of his quarters—Sheppard and Ronon predictably lounging against the walls, Teyla standing with her arms folded as though she had been lecturing. He got the impression he had walked in on a discussion that had abruptly ceased. "I don't know where to go," Rodney lifted his hands helplessly before letting them fall to his sides. "I don't know what to say."

"Come with us," Sheppard jerked his head towards the control rooms and headed off in that direction. Rodney fell into step beside him, Teyla and Ronon bringing up the rear.

"Just be yourself, Dr. McKay." Teyla's melodious voice coming from behind him was encouraging.

"Only nicer." Ronon added.

Rodney swiveled his head around to glare at Ronon only he could not tell from the man's cool demeanor whether or not he was joking and he was afraid to find out he was not.

They all came to a halt with Rodney as they entered Carter's office to find her in standing in front of the balcony doors with two other women. Jeannie was instantly recognizable, though somewhat softer and rounder than Rodney remembered; her hair suspiciously blonder and longer as well. Beside her the second woman with vibrant, auburn hair stood staring at Rodney with large, doe-like eyes that seemed on the verge of tears. If he didn't know better, he would guess that her lower lip was about to start to quivering at any moment.

"Oh shit." Sheppard's voice came quietly over Rodney's right shoulder.

Rodney could not tear his eyes away from the trio of women standing before them but he tipped his head surreptitiously in Sheppard's direction and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "What? What 'oh shit'?"

Sheppard's voice ghosted closer to his ear. "The woman with the red hair is your girlfriend".

"My what?" Rodney gasped out, even as Carter was saying, "Oh there you are." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sheppard cover his eyes with his hand and shake his head slightly. Oh. Right. He probably should not be quite so reactive to information given quietly on the side. He smiled at the women, his expression feeling painfully stiff.

"This, as you may know, is Jeannie Miller and Dr. Katie Brown." If Carter was uncomfortable, she was doing a good job of hiding it. "And this is Dr. Rodney McKay, lately arrived from an alternative universe." There was a twinkle in her eye, a gleam of suppressed amusement that gave Rodney the impression that she routinely dealt with six impossible things before breakfast every day and that this was just par for the course in the Pegasus galaxy. Oh god.

Jeannie was scowling at him and her expression was so natural and felt so right that Rodney could tell the moment his own expression shifted. No one else in the room mattered. "Jeannie." He beamed. "It's been a while since I've seen you. You... you look really good."

Jeannie's features softened. "Mer."

"I know this is going to be somewhat awkward for everyone and I honestly don't have any idea what the legal ramifications are going to be, but I am sure we can come to some sort of working arrangement here." Carter's glance seemed to encompass the room as she spoke. For a split second Rodney envisioned a bubble over her head encapsulating the words 'blah-blah-blah'.

Jeannie ignored Carter and came around the end of the desk to stand in front of Rodney, visibly inspecting him up and down as she did so. Rodney felt his eyes narrow under her scrutiny and leaned back slightly away from her. Into Sheppard. He jumped at the contact, stepping forward and bumping into Jeannie, gripping her by the arms to keep from pushing her over. He promptly released her arms as though they were scalding his hands.

"So what, they don't have any food or people who can cut hair in your universe?" Jeannie said lightly. "I mean seriously, what's up with that? I can't remember the last time I've seen you so skinny and I hate to tell you, but leaving it longer doesn't disguise the fact that it's getting thinner up top." She reached up and flicked at the hair curling over his ear.

He folded his arms and glared down at her. "Okay, now see? I'm starting to remember the advantages of having no siblings."

"Mrs. Miller! Dr. McKay!" Carter's voice managed to be both alarmed and placating at the same time. "I'm sure if we all just take a deep breath and..."

Jeannie reached up and threw her arms around Rodney's neck. "I missed you." She whispered into the side of his neck and he could hear the tears in her voice. "I missed you so much."

"Yeah." He patted her tentatively on the shoulder and then suddenly crushed her into a hug, lifting her off the ground until she squealed. He set her back on her feet and she jumped back and swatted at his shoulder, smiling from ear to ear. Rodney glanced over at the red-head, who had tears running down her face, a diffident smile tugging at her lips. He found the look on her face too painful to observe and he pulled his eyes away.

"So," Sheppard's drawl caught Rodney's attention and he half turned to face the Colonel as he spoke. "So you two are okay with this? Really okay? Because you know...well, you two aren't really related, you know."

"Oh please." Rodney rolled his eyes and then shot them over at Jeannie.

"Seriously," she continued. "He's obviously my brother, if not the one I lost last month." Her face puckered for a second, as though she were about to start crying, but then shifted quickly into an exasperated expression. "I mean, who else could he be? He's definitely a McKay, just kinda like my brother's weird long lost twin or something."

"Yes, yes." Rodney tossed a sour look in Jeannie's direction. "And you would be Jeannie 2.0, the one with the special smart-ass feature installed."

"Oh, I like how you assume I'm not the original model..."

"Children, let's all play nice here..." Carter was saying, but Sheppard was not done.

"He's not the same person you grew up with though." His comment was directed at Jeannie. Rodney felt his spine stiffen; was aware that Sheppard was deliberately not looking at him. "You don't have the same experiences, memories."

Jeannie sent Sheppard a searching look as though she were questioning what he was really asking here. "So we'll make new ones." She said at last, lifting her chin pugnaciously in true McKay fashion.

"It's not like the ones we had were so great." Rodney agreed.

"What matters is how the two of them feel about each other, Colonel. Nothing else." Teyla's voice had an interesting finality to it—a sort of Teyla-has-spoken quality. Sheppard shot her a somewhat defensive glance but Teyla's serene, slightly smug expression did not change.

"There stands the smartest person in Atlantis." Rodney knew no other way to thank Teyla for her support.

"Huh." Sheppard's incredibly sarcastic eyebrow rose. "I thought that was your undisputed title."

"I'm learning there's more than one kind of genius." Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Colonel.

"Definitely the weird twin brother." Jeannie nodded solemnly.

***

The next few weeks flew by. There was just so much to learn, to explore, to catch up on. The very nice but frighteningly youthful Dr. Keller administered the gene therapy to him and it was the best Christmas present ever when the treatment was successful and he too could manipulate the Ancient technology. He sat down with Zelenka and worked out a plan for an organized study of everything he needed to acquaint himself with and in what order of priority he needed to study the SGC classified material. He spent 12, 14, 16 hours a day in the labs. He had an excruciating dinner with Katie Brown, at the conclusion of which she kissed him on the cheek and said sadly that 'this isn't going to work, is it?' and he had gone back to Radek complaining, 'a botanist? What could we possibly have in common? What was I thinking?'

He snapped at people who persisted in trying to make a distinction between the 'real' Dr. McKay and himself, stating that it was stupid to keep using terms like 'counterpart' and 'the other Dr. McKay' when everyone knew who they meant. He finally made an announcement at the labs one day, extorting the staff to simply treat him as though he had amnesia—it would make things a lot easier all around and he didn't have time to be treated like the lesser Dr. McKay. Surprisingly, this had been readily accepted by everyone.

He was assigned a radio headset. That it was frequently used to page him in the middle of the night to assist in solving some maintenance problem within the city did not bother him at all.

He chafed at the restrictions preventing him from working in the labs unsupervised until it was pointed out to him that 'he' himself had established said policy in order to protect new personnel until they became acquainted with the city and its systems. It was a perfect reasonable and astute policy but he didn't really see why it should apply to him.

He got his hair cut. It earned him a few double-takes initially but after a day that subsided.

He did not gloat over the fact that Kavanaugh was no longer associated with the expedition, no matter what Radek thought.

Late at night, when he could not get his brain to shut off, he would stare at the framed photo of Schrödinger, the only decoration in his sterile quarters, and try to sleep. That he had packed the photo in the duffle when he'd left his apartment that fateful afternoon suggested to him that he had intended to enter the portal over Sheppard's objections, but he wondered now if he would have had the nerve if Sheppard had remained adamant against his coming.

Once he jerked awake out of a nightmare about Brian and Earth, his Earth as it must be now, and sat on the edge of his bed for a long time before he moved over to the computer, hands shaking as he composed an email to Jeannie. Caleb, he knew, was still freaked out about the whole alternative-universe-brother thing, but Jeannie was making noises about Rodney coming to visit at some point.

He had been taken aback the first time Ronon showed up at his door at 05:30, demanding that he put on track shoes and get a move on. "McKay always goes running with me."

It was on the tip of his tongue to say that he couldn't possibly make the time right now, that he had more important matters to catch up on first but Ronon's eyes had narrowed as though he had anticipated the protest and he had added, "If you ever want to be cleared to go off-world with the team, you'd better not slow us down."

Halfway into that first run, sweat running down his face and darkening the collar of his tee, Rodney had suggested Ronon get himself a different running partner, someone who could keep up better. Ronon had just smirked and said he'd already taken his real run that morning with Sheppard. Rodney muttered uncomplimentary things about both men under his breath and Ronon had picked up the pace in retaliation. He did sleep better that night though.

After the first few frantic days, Radek had taken to sending him a schedule via email, which though annoying as hell, proved to be astonishingly useful in helping him focus on what needed to be done and when, instead of being overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of what he had to accomplish each day. He groaned however when he saw the entry 'stick fighting with Teyla' first appear. Thinking he could get out of it, he caught Teyla in the mess, pleading lack of time. It took him a second to realize that she was as much in the dark about their afternoon appointment in the gym as he was.

She tried to pretend it was a normally scheduled event, but the seeds of doubt had been planted. "I... the other me—he didn't spar with you, did he?" Damn if he himself wasn't forced into using the very euphemisms he hated.

He could tell Teyla was thinking about lying but she hedged slightly instead. "Not regularly, no."

"And I bet he didn't go running with Ronon every day either."

Teyla's eyes popped open briefly before her imperturbable mask slid into place. She opened her mouth to speak and he cut her off with a hand held up and a sigh. "No, no, I get it Teyla, really I do. I won't be able to take my place on the team or in the city until I am up to speed on everything, just like...your Rodney McKay."

"It is not a race," Teyla said softly. "Our Dr. McKay, as you put it, was not perfect by any means. You do not need to pack four years of lifetime experiences into a few weeks."

"Yes, yes, I do." Rodney spread his hands wide as he shrugged and then they flew of their own accord as he continued speaking. "I've read the mission reports. I know what your McKay did on a daily basis to keep things running around here and how often he was called upon to supply some miraculous solution to a life-threatening event. I know too how dangerous off-world missions can be and I don't want to be the weak link that gets someone injured or gets us all killed. I'm not going to let you guys down, Teyla."

"You are incapable of doing that, Rodney McKay." Teyla gripped his arms in the Athosian greeting, pressing her forehead to his briefly as he bent down to meet her halfway. "If you will excuse me," she said tightly as she stepped back, "I have some ass to go kick."

The next day, weapons training with Sheppard appeared on his schedule. The day after that, flight lessons. Sheppard was a good instructor, cool, impersonal, patient. He thawed a little when Rodney got so very excited the first time they took the puddle jumper into the upper atmosphere above the planet but the easy camaraderie that they'd experienced in Rodney's apartment was gone.

Or at it least it seemed so to Rodney. So he was surprised when Sheppard began periodically showing up at the lab to bully him into breaking for lunch, or casually tossing a power bar in his direction when he stated unequivocally that under no circumstances could he possibly leave his work at this time. If it wasn't the friendly banter he remembered with regret at its passing, well, at least it was a good working relationship.

He didn't notice at first when Zelenka began to leave him more and more to his own devices. He was openly jubilant however when he first solved a Gate coding error before anyone else and Radek had accused him of trying to take back 'his' old job.

Rodney had flinched mentally and then hurried to assure Radek that this was not his intention. Radek had merely rolled his eyes and said, "Please, Rodney. I hate your job. I never wanted it in the first place."

"Well, then," Rodney had said, feeling insufferably pleased with himself. "En garde."

***

He had worked hard, damn it. Between Ronon and Teyla he was putting in at least two hours of physical activity a day, not to mention the specialized training with Sheppard, the regular lab projects and all the extra reading. It was not fair that his first off-world mission should go to hell in a hand-basket, but then he was starting to learn that the Pegasus galaxy had no definition for 'fair' in its lexicon.

"Will somebody please explain to me, who the hell is this Kolya person?" Rodney could not remember the last time he had ever been so pissed and scared at the same time as when he had listened to the transmission over the radio from the man who held Sheppard prisoner.

"He is a former commander of the Genii, who tried to invade Atlantis the first year of your expedition. I had hoped with the move to another planet, we would have seen the last of him, but apparently not." Teyla looked grim. She had a bandage on one arm, stark white material already starting to seep through with blood. Ronon reached over and tightened the ends of her bandage and she smiled up at him briefly from where she sat in the jumper seat.

"What does he want with me?" Rodney looked back and forth from Teyla to Ronon, who appeared to be oblivious to the various injuries he sported and looked as pissed as Rodney felt.

"The Genii are many years behind your people in the use of technology. When it became apparent the invasion would fail, Kolya attempted to take you back to his homeworld to use your knowledge to further their cause. He is an outcast now, but perhaps he needs you more than ever."

"Why can't we pick up Sheppard's subcutaneous transponder?" Rodney waved his scanner in her direction before looking down and tapping at its surface with a fingertip. "They must be blocking the signal somehow..."

"I'm going back." Ronon checked his weapon and stood up, headed for the back hatch of the jumper.

"Ronon, stop." Teyla's voice was weary but urgent. "We need a plan."

"We should get reinforcements." Rodney suggested worriedly, looking up from the scanner.

"Didn't you hear him, McKay?" Ronon ground out. "He plans to start cutting Sheppard up if we don't give him what he wants. We don't have time to go back for reinforcements—even if Carter would let them come."

"Carter wouldn't..." Rodney started but Ronon cut him off.

"Your people don't negotiate with terrorists. She's not gonna give you up. Where does that leave Sheppard?"

Rodney blinked at Ronon's fierce scowling expression. In his head he could still hear Kolya's frighteningly smooth delivery as he suggested that first he would start with Sheppard's ears, simply because they were unusual and the thought of removing them amused him, but that he would rapidly move on if they delayed in turning McKay over to him.

"I wonder what kind of soldier he'd make without fingers to pull a trigger...how many Genii can he kill without eyes to see?" Kolya's voice had purred over the radio. His voice had then turned thoughtful. "We could just cut his Achilles tendon...that would be one way to slow him down."

Rodney had started to react but Teyla had clamped a hand over his mouth and hissed into his ear, "He doesn't know you're here." She had then turned to speak into the radio. "We don't even know if Colonel Sheppard is still alive. We need to speak with him."

There was the sound of someone being dragged, possibly thumped a few times and then Sheppard's slurred voice came over the com. "Don't do it, Teyla. Don't give him what he wants..."

The transmission was interrupted with the dull thud of flesh on flesh and then a thin cry of pain sounded as though it were being pulled out of Sheppard on the end of a meathook before it ended in a sobbing gasp for air. Everyone held their breath as they continued to listen to the open transmission.

"You shouldn't squirm so, Colonel," Kolya had said pleasantly at last. "That was very close to your eye."

Teyla then took a deep breath, tilted her head slightly and closed her eyes to half-slits before speaking again. "Dr. McKay is not with us at this time. He...he has not been well." She had flashed a quick, unreadable glance in Rodney's direction. "We will have to travel back to our base to retrieve him."

"Understood. You have one hour. Just McKay, mind you, no nasty surprises or the consequences will be regrettable, I assure you. I would also be on time if I were you." The transmission had ended abruptly.

"So what's your plan?" Ronon growled, snapping Rodney back to the present.

Rodney pushed past him and went over to the pilot's seat. "The only good news is that we've been parked here near the Gate and we know no one has left the planet. We need to get airborne, we need to stay cloaked. I don't have enough data to triangulate the Colonel's location, but if I can use the radio transmission as the starting basis for a search point, as well as the jumper's sensors to find whatever 'blind' spot this Kolya has created, then at the very least, we should be able to narrow down our choices. If we get it close enough, I might even be able to set us down on top of it, so that we can use the element of surprise."

"We aren't going to have much time before they realize we're there." Ronon moved to take the co-pilot's seat.

"Let me find 'there' first and then I'll let you out to run and shoot to your heart's content," Rodney snapped, intent on safely piloting the jumper. His right hand flew over the console as he lifted the jumper in the air, bringing up a display of the approaching city below them. A beacon marked their previous position, a green field depicted the range of the radios; a stream of data began to scroll rapidly in one corner of the HUD screen as the sensors came online. They flew along tensely for about ten minutes or so in this fashion. The jumper bobbled slightly in its path as Rodney focused too much on the information he was receiving and he nearly overcorrected but got the ship back on an even course once more.

"Sure you know what you're doing, McKay?" The bass rumble came from Ronon.

"Shut up. Busy flying here," Rodney snapped. A hatch-marked pattern suddenly appeared on the HUD. "Ah-ha!" He chortled. "Gotcha."

Teyla had come to stand between the two piloting chairs. "What is that?" She pointed at the hatched area on the map.

"The area of blackout." Rodney frowned as he looked at the size of the space covered. "He's got to be in there somewhere." He directed the jumper to the area in question, the map rotating around as he circled the site from above.

"It's too much ground to cover. We need to narrow it down." Ronon said.

"I know that. I'm thinking!" Rodney didn't want Kolya to cut off Sheppard's ears. He liked Sheppard's ears. He preferred Sheppard with all his parts attached, thank you very much. And if he ever saw the man alive again, he had every intention of telling him that personally.

"We cannot pick up his transponder, but is there some other way of locating him?" Teyla, as always, the lovely voice of reason. Rodney wanted to kiss her.

"Maybe, just maybe...he muttered, taking the steering with his left hand and reaching across with his right to the console again. "Okay we can't pick up the transponder and we can't pick up life signs in the blackout, but if we change the parameters of the search, including the frequency that we search on, then we might just be able...yes!"

A blue beacon appeared on the HUD, blinking, stationary.

"That," Rodney said proudly, "is what happens when you use Ancient technology look for the strongest ATA carrier on the planet."

He moved the jumper in closer, the HUD changing to depict a stylized warehouse. The beacon was located near an outside wall. Rodney flew the jumper in a circle around the building, watching the HUD rather than the landscape. It was a little like playing a video game.

"Put us down there." Ronon indicated suddenly.

"Ronon," Rodney said uneasily. "That's an alley. A very narrow alley."

"You can do it, McKay. It'll put us right next to Sheppard."

Rodney held his breath but forced himself to keep his eyes open as he made his vertical descent. Teyla had a rather tight grip on his shoulder but he thought it would be a little rude to shake her off just now. The drive pods were not in his line of sight and he wished for those big mirrors people had on the side of their Winnebagos as the jumper touched down, an unpleasant grinding vibration marking their passage. Ronon had the rear hatch open and was on the ground running before the jumper had come to a complete touchdown. By the time Rodney and Teyla had caught up with him, he was already setting charges underneath a barred window.

"Get down." Ronon pushed Rodney down behind a row of trash barrels as the charge went off. Rodney was still coughing when Ronon jerked the bars off the widow frame and pulled himself up into the building. A couple of blast shots later and Ronon was pushing Sheppard through the window.

He came down on top of Rodney, stripped to his BDU pants, carrying about a foot of chain each manacled to each wrist; the ends still faintly glowing from Ronon's blaster but cooling fast. Rodney held him for a second, his hands sliding unexpectedly across sweat-slicked skin, stunned at suddenly having an armful of Sheppard. He helped Sheppard regain his feet before looking into his face. One eye was blackened and swollen shut, his lip was split as well. Underneath the other eye, the skin of his cheek was laid open to bone, the raw flesh shocking to witness. The cut had bled heavily before drying like black tears down the side of his face. Rodney slung one arm around his shoulder and Teyla took up the other side as they moved out from under the window. Ronon jumped down behind them, firing behind him into the widow frame. "Move!" He yelled over his shoulder.

"Looks like I pissed them off this time," Sheppard mumbled in Rodney's ear.

"I see you managed to get your shirt off," Rodney shot back as he and Teyla half-dragged, half-ran with him towards the jumper. Sheppard snorted and then hissed with pain.

"Don't make me laugh," he warned, but Rodney could still hear the smile in his voice, and even though he was scared to death, he couldn't help a tight little smile himself as they made their escape.

They staggered back up the ramp to the jumper, carefully laying Sheppard down on the seat in the rear compartment. Teyla moved to the hatch to take up a position to cover Ronon as he ran down the alley towards them. Rodney took his seat and fired up the engines, starting to rise off the ground with the hatch still open. Ronon made a running leap into the back of the jumper and rolled inside as Teyla hit the controls for the door. "We're in!" She shouted.

The little ship struggled to rise into the air.

"What's the hold up, McKay?" Ronon shouted from the rear as something, presumably weapons fire, slammed into the back hatch.

"It feels like we're hung up on something!" Rodney shouted back. He gave the engines everything he had and the ship ground its way up between the walls of the alley until it popped out over the warehouse like a cork from a bottle. "We've lost the cloak!" His announcement was met with a tense silence. His uncontrolled ascent might have been the reason that ground to air missile soon launched from below missed its target. He swung the jumper in a steep banking curve to head back towards the Gate, pressing a button on the controls as he passed over the warehouse again.

The warehouse erupted into a burning ball of flame as the drone found its target.

Teyla's eyes grew round as she craned her head to view the explosion when they swept past the building.

"Oops," said Rodney, with suspicious innocence.

Ronon threw back his head and laughed.

***

The aftermath of the 'successful' mission was disappointing to say the least. He presumed it was successful because everyone made it back alive, but it didn't feel like a rousing success to him. Everyone but him ended up staying in the infirmary for treatment. After he was examined and released, he spent an interminable period being debriefed by Carter, and although he appreciated the 'well done, McKay', it was not the accolade that his fantasy had conjured up back in his apartment. Rodney was tired; the adrenaline fumes had worn off long ago and his hands were beginning the familiar hypoglycemic shake. He was finally released from Carter's office and fled to the mess, ignoring the healthier fare he might have chosen if Keller's watchful eye had been upon him and choosing instead the chicken fettuccine. With a spurt of rebellion, he decided he was not going to go running either and he had no one to spar with at the moment and what did it all matter anyway? He had almost lost everything today.

When he appeared in the lab, something in his face must have given himself away because Radek looked up and made a 'tsking' sort of noise before taking Rodney aside into his small office. There, he unlocked a drawer in his desk and pulled out a bottle of vodka, handing it over to Rodney. "You look like you need this."

They shared a few shots while Rodney told him what had happened that day; Radek was still snickering 'oops' when Rodney said suddenly, "How am I different from the other McKay?"

Radek blinked owlishly at him for a long moment and then said with a smile, "You are not so quick to assume that you are the only one that can be right. It is true—you are often correct when everyone else is wrong, but it is refreshing to have you not assume that just the same. And...you learn from your mistakes."

That seemed to be grounds for a toast, so they each raised a glass and clicked them together. "To mistakes." Rodney said solemnly.

He eventually made his way out of the lab, cradling the bottle in the crook of his arm. He still had the feeling that the day had really sucked (and he wasn't looking forward to what Sheppard would have to say once he really took a good look at the jumper) but the vodka had allowed it to remain somewhat at a distance for the time being and he could live with that.

He had entered his room, toed off his boots and pulled his shirt off over his head when the chime sounded. "What now?" Rodney barked as he keyed the door open.

Sheppard stood in the doorway, looking tired, battered and just a little ill at ease. "If you'd rather I come back later..."

"No, no, come in. Sit down. Are you sure you should be out and about? Ohmygod, you're on the run from the infirmary, aren't you?"

"It looks worse than it is. Relax, I'm out legally. Ronon and Teyla too." Sheppard sat down at Rodney's table carefully all the same, an eyebrow twitching at the sight of the bottle. His face was a wreck, mostly bruises, one eye completely swollen shut, but the knife cut was now stitched closed in a neat curving line along his cheekbone. It would scar; Rodney was sure and the thought angered him all over again. Sheppard picked up the bottle of vodka and waggled it gently.

"What? Oh no, no, no. Keller's probably got you hopped up on pain meds, she would not approve of you mixing it with alcohol, I'm sure."

Seeing that a glass was not forthcoming, Sheppard gave a little smirk, the kind that moved the least number of muscles in his face and uncapped the lid, drinking directly from the bottle. Rodney stalked over to the table and snatched the bottle from his hand. "Why are you here?"

Sheppard seemed taken aback but then he let his face relax, as close as he could apparently get to a grin at the moment, and said, "I just wanted to let you know you did good, McKay. Really good. I know you've, uh, felt a little pressure to catch up here, hell, you're the only person I know who could get in a pissing match with your dead alternative self, and I just wanted you to know...you know, we're good."

"Well," Rodney tried hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He leaned forward and placed the bottle on the table with a small thump. "That's certainly good to know."

All trace of humor left Sheppard's face and he suddenly looked weary, like he'd been beaten in more ways than just physically today. "Right," he said quietly. "I think I'll just head on back to my quarters now."

He stood to leave but Rodney had not given an inch and suddenly they were in each other's space. Without thinking, Rodney reached out and lightly touched the side of his face under the row of stitches. Sheppard flinched and leaned back slightly, the skin around his eyes tightening.

"Sorry," Rodney said, withdrawing his hand slowly. "Hurts, huh?"

"Like a sonofabitch." Sheppard agreed but did not move. His mouth twitched slightly. "Heard you bombed the building as we left."

"I was so pissed," Rodney growled. "I hope we got the bastard that did this to you." Sheppard's eyes widened marginally as he stared back and Rodney thought to himself, what the hell? He leaned forward and brushed Sheppard's lips with his own.

Sheppard placed a palm on his bare chest and held him there, eyes closed, when Rodney would have leaned in again. "McKay. Look this is my fault...I think you've got the wrong idea... Rodney and I didn't...we never..."

"Then I guess he wasn't such a genius after all." Rodney enjoyed the look of shock that shot across Sheppard's face. Until his expression changed, as though he were getting ready to shield himself from a blow. Aw shit. Way to go, McKay.

Rodney reluctantly stepped back, giving Sheppard some space, instantly missing the warmth of his hand against his skin. "You know," he said, running his hand through his much shorter hair and realizing he had still not gotten used to that, "I had this whole speech worked out where I was going to tell you that when we met, I realized that I had been starving my whole life. Physically, emotionally, intellectually. And that it wasn't good enough for me any more, that it had to end right there. That from now on, I was going to fight for the things I really wanted. Only this doesn't seem to be the right time for speeches, not when you've had the crap beaten out of you, and you look like you can barely stand upright, only it does seem to me that I should press my advantage here because seriously, I might possibly be able to break through your defenses at this moment, and god knows, your defenses are legion."

Sheppard squinted slightly out of his good eye and his entire expression seemed to say 'huh?' but after a moment, he said, "Okay. So why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?" Rodney was confused. Sheppard was suddenly in his space, backing him up until he bumped into the wall. He pinned Rodney's wrists on either side of his head against the wall and leaned into full body contact. Rodney turned his head aside nervously and Sheppard's breath against his neck made him shiver.

"Why don't you take advantage of me?"

Rodney turned his head back to face Sheppard, who seemed to have an 'I double-dog dare you' look in his eye and Rodney felt his own eyes narrow in response. Shifting his hips slightly, which caused Sheppard to close his good eye and not-quite moan, Rodney insinuated a thigh between Sheppard's legs and reached forward to brush the side of Sheppard's mouth with his own, careful to avoid his cut lip. He moved slowly down the side of Sheppard's face to his neck, tasting the sweat, smelling the blood on his skin, the trace of cordite in his hair and the oil from the chains on his wrists. He reached a spot just under Sheppard's ear, profoundly grateful that it was still attached, and nipped at the skin slightly, blowing a stream of warm air across the damp skin. Sheppard shuddered beneath his lips.

"Jesus, Rodney," Sheppard breathed, releasing Rodney's hands to lean heavily on the wall, still bracketing Rodney between his arms as he rested his forehead against Rodney's. His hands free at last, Rodney ran them up and down Sheppard's sides and down over his hips, feeling the involuntary little stutter that Sheppard's pelvis made towards him.

"I have an idea." Rodney gently pushed Sheppard back, who stood with a puzzled expression on his face until Rodney took him by the wrist and led him towards the bed. He went willingly, almost quiescently, which was both disturbing and hot to Rodney at the same time.

"Sit." He commanded, pushing Sheppard down into a seated position on the foot of the bed and then taking the hem of his tee-shirt and peeling it upward. There was wincing and a hitching of breath as the shirt came off over Sheppard's head and Rodney was horrified at the extent of bruising present along his chest and ribs. Rodney almost called a halt to everything then, but he decided Sheppard was an adult and could tell him to stop if Rodney was hurting him. Rodney instead ducked his head and knelt to remove Sheppard's boots and socks, unwilling to let the other man see how angry he was all over again. Rodney got back to his feet and started to undo Sheppard's belt, but long fingers closed over his hand.

"What?" Sheppard questioned. "What's going on in that big brain of yours?"

"Nothing." Rodney took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. "I'm thinking you should let me do the driving on this one."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow slightly and then seemed to come to some sort of internal decision, lying back on the bed and folding his hands beneath his head, his dog tags pooling in the center of his chest. His legs he left still hanging off the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.

"How fortunate for you that smug suits you," Rodney said, undoing his fly. Sheppard obligingly lifted his hips with a smirk and Rodney grabbed both briefs and pants by the waistband, carefully and efficiently working them over his hips before pulling them down and off Sheppard's long legs. Freed of clothing, Sheppard's erect cock made an immediate bid for attention, but Rodney instead traced the scar underneath his ribcage left by his encounter with the street thugs, the skin puckered in a thin line with a tiny row of pin-like marks on either side left by the staples. Rodney placed one knee on the bed and lightly traced the bruises along Sheppard's ribcage and abdomen, causing him to flinch slightly and frown, but Rodney's hands moved dreamily along the planes of his body and Sheppard began to relax again. When Rodney slid his palms along the inside of Sheppard's thighs, he parted his legs with a sigh and Rodney shifted down to the floor to kneel in between them.

Sheppard levered himself up on his elbows to watch, but could not hold the position very long and fell back on the pillows when Rodney's mouth closed over the end of his cock. "Holy crap," he said, fisting the covers until they twisted in his hands, "that's fucking unbelievable."

Rodney snorted, which made Sheppard's hips jerk and it was all he could do to keep from laughing. He laved Sheppard's shaft with his tongue, grasping hold of the base with one hand while he took in as much as he could in his mouth again, bobbing his head up and down as he followed with his hand. With his free hand he stroked the sides of Sheppard's thigh and moved round to the back side of his knee. Sheppard made a little mewling noise that went right to Rodney's cock and began to rock his hips unconsciously before he realized what he was doing and forcibly controlled the movement. Rodney pushed a hand under Sheppard's hip and encouraged him to move again and with a groan, Sheppard began a series of small, controlled thrusts, pushing up off the floor with his heels, fucking Rodney's mouth. Rodney could feel him getting closer, feel the tightening of his body that he remembered from before and shifted his hand out from under Sheppard. He slid two fingers in his mouth alongside Sheppard's cock and then reached up along his abdomen, circling his belly button with wet fingers before splaying them, raking his nails lightly down to Sheppard's groin. Sheppard arched off the bed with a cry and Rodney had to pull back suddenly to keep from hurting him as Sheppard came in hard, jerking pulses all over Rodney's hand.

"Oh. My. God." Sheppard said at last. He started to laugh, thought better of it and addressed the ceiling instead. "Ow."

Rodney lifted his head. "Ow?" He echoed, trying to keep the note of complaint out of his voice.

Sheppard flapped a hand in his direction. "Yes. But oddly worth it."

He opened his good eye to squint at Rodney and then frowned slightly. "Hey. Why are you still dressed?" He reached out with a hand. "Help me up here."

Rodney wasn't sure what he was after but when he gripped Sheppard's arm, Sheppard used the leverage to push himself all the way onto the bed and then pull Rodney in alongside him. There was a bad moment when Rodney's elbow contacted his side and Sheppard froze with a grunt in a moment of rictus before sagging against Rodney again.

"Sorry," Rodney winced on his behalf.

"My fault." Sheppard dismissed the pain. His hands were busy sliding around Rodney's shoulders, griping and squeezing like he couldn't get enough contact with his skin. For the first time in his life, Rodney wasn't wondering how his body held up to comparison. He'd come to think of it as sturdy and dependable and he marveled at how much he craved to be touched now—it was as though an animal portion of himself had been awakened with the physical training.

"Hey." Sheppard's voice was soft and warm thrumming next to his ear. "Can I help you out with that?" He closed his hand around Rodney's cock through his pants, causing Rodney to open his mouth in a soundless gasp. "What do you want to do, Rodney? I...uh, don't really know what comes next."

It was hard to tell with the bruising, but he thought Sheppard looked distinctly embarrassed. Rodney decided to let him off the hook—this time.

"We're guys. We go to sleep." He deliberately closed his eyes.

"Yeah, right." Rodney smiled but kept his eyes closed at the exaggerated drawl. Sheppard shifted in the bed closer to him and poked Rodney in the abdomen, forcing him to open his eyes with a yelp of laughter.

"C'mon, I'm all about equality here." Sheppard sounded as though he was having trouble containing laughter himself, but then his voice took on a different kind of breathlessness. "You want a hand job? You want...you want to fuck me?"

"After the day you've had, I think we should postpone anything quite so...athletic." Rodney felt shyly pleased that Sheppard looked disappointed. He batted Sheppard's hands away when they began to pull at his fly. "I think maybe you've had enough for one day."

Sheppard looked as though he hated to agree but then his one eye lit up. "I know," he breathed in the way he got when he was really excited about something. He renewed his rhythmic massage of Rodney's cock, giving it an encouraging squeeze. "You jack yourself off and I watch."

Rodney just knew Sheppard felt the surge his cock gave at the idea. "You. You are a bad influence on me." He undid his fly with hands that were not shaking, thank you very much, and slid one hand into his pants.

"Oh no, pants off. I want to see everything." Sheppard was lying on his side, looking as though he could barely keep his eyes open, but who was Rodney to refuse him?

With mock indignation, Rodney rose and huffed his way out of his remaining clothes. He started to get back into the narrow bed but paused to look down at Sheppard, who was watching him with an anticipatory smile. Feeling suddenly like an exhibitionist, Rodney began to stroke his cock where he stood, closing his eyes at the familiar pull of skin on skin.

"Fuck. Rodney." Sheppard's voice was dark and throaty and it made Rodney's eyes snap open. He locked eyes with Sheppard as his hand moved, watching Sheppard's tongue flick out and touch his cracked and torn lips. He remembered the smell of his skin and the way his body had felt pushing against Rodney's that night at his apartment and the feel of Sheppard's fingers on the back of his neck and in his hair. His hips began to pump against his hand and he put out his other hand for balance and to grasp at empty air.

"Oh yeah, Rodney, do it for me." That was all it took. It might as well have been a command for Rodney began to come at the sound of Sheppard's voice. When he was done, it was difficult to retain coordination enough to stand and Rodney crawled into the bed beside Sheppard, wiping his hand on the covers as he went.

"Satisfied?" Rodney said with a yawn. Sheppard unexpectedly rolled him until Rodney's back was against his front, his arm sliding underneath Rodney's and across his chest.

"For now." Sheppard's breath tickled the back of his neck and made him shiver.

"Tyrant." Rodney said without heat.

"I don't know, I was thinking about a hot shower, a massage and a blow job in the morning." His thigh pressed up between Rodney's legs and he let Sheppard slide between them.

"Oh, is that on the room service menu? Because if so, I'm ordering one of those too."

Sheppard chuckled and Rodney could not imagine a better place in any universe to be right now. His fingers moved lazily against Rodney's skin, creeping up to gently play with a nipple.

"Ohmygod, you're insatiable." Rodney laced his fingers with Sheppard's and pulled his hand away. "I should get something to clean us up."

"In a minute." Overhead, the lights began to dim gradually. The moment stretched out languorously and Rodney was almost on the verge of sleep when Sheppard spoke again.

"You asked me what I was thinking of when I first opened the portal to your world."

He stopped, obviously needing prompting, so Rodney said, "Yes?"

"I was thinking of you. Specifically that I wished you were there to save my ass again, but then you were there, only you were different and yet the same and it was like some damned monkey paw thing because I didn't know what I wanted anymore."

"Tell me that you did not just compare me to the monkey paw thing."

"Okay. Maybe that didn't come out right." There was a long silence and then Sheppard added quietly, "You're not a substitute, you know."

"Obviously. That goes without saying. I am unique." He exaggerated the lofty tone in his voice.

"Rodney."

"Sheppard."

"John."

Oh. "Really?"

"Really."

There was another long pause and then Rodney spoke. "I'm going to let you down some day, you know."

"I'm going to hurt you some day."

Another long pause. "Because that's who we are?"

"Because we're human."

"Speak for yourself, Misfit Toy."

Sheppard's (no, John's) arm tightened around his chest warningly. Another lengthy pause. "You know, I'm just a little bit insane, right?"

"Oddly enough, I find it's one of your more endearing qualities. Now shut up. Ronon's probably coming for me at o' dark thirty and I have to be in the labs at seven."

"Take the day off." John mouthed the back of his neck, breathing in deeply as he nosed Rodney's hair. "I am."

It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

~fin~


End file.
